The Finest Form of Flattery
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: When three chopped up bodies are discovered on the beach of a small town in Maine, the BAU suspect they may be dealing with a copycat of the infamous Bay Harbor Butcher from Miami.
1. Chapter 1

_Ogunquit, Maine_

 _Today is the Day._

 _After piloting the Slice of Life into Laura in order to make most of the world believe I was dead, I have drifted from place to place to place as a non-entity; working various labor jobs, keeping my head down, staying off anybody's radar. I'm sure there are several people who would describe me- in whichever identity I had assumed – as being aloof or maybe even antisocial; and that's been okay by me. What they don't realize is that this is by design. This is in part for my own protection; the first rule of Harry's Code is: don't get caught. My anonymity and aloof lifestyle is also for their protection._

 _I should make it known clearly right here and now that the Dark Passenger has long left me; or at least as much as it ever will. I have seen many opportunities to let him take over and revert to my old ways, and have declined to do so. What is even more important is that this wasn't out of a need for control over the Dark Passenger as it is about the fact that the desire to act on those urges has faded. Even with Hanna and Harrison so far away their love is stronger than my darkness. What I mean by their protection is from my Curse. I've made a point of keeping people at a distance so I don't end up hurting them; or worse. Whether I kill or not, I destroy the lives of those I care most about; the only way to keep that from happening anymore is to not allow anyone get too close. My mother was murdered in front of me, and Brian...Bynie...my brother...ended up an even worse monster than I could ever be. Harry took me in and with the help of Evelyn taught me the Code, but both are dead because of what I became. Harry even killed himself because of his role in it. Rita was murdered by Arthur Mitchell...Trinity... because I let him live much longer than I should have; and because of that the lives of Astor and Cody are ruined forever. In fact, everything I've done has made their lives worse. Astor was right when she said that, even if she didn't know it. All I can hope for them is that maybe 'Uncle Joey' is helping balance that damage out a little. Then there is Deb...my sister; she compromised everything she was and everything she believed in out of love for me, and then she died...no, she was murdered trying to protect me and the truth of what I am. Everyone I ever really care about ends up hurt, or dead, or damned- if you believe in God._

 _Since that last night in Miami, the only three people who have any idea that I'm still alive are Angel, Quinn, and Matthews. I would have rather not let any of them into this, but I needed them in order to make it work. I needed Angel to coordinate matters from that end, and Matthews to make sure every part of the narrative stuck. Ironically enough, Quinn turned out to be the most important piece of the puzzle. He doesn't like to admit it, but in many ways he's dirty; he's been making every effort to go clean in honor of Deb's memory, but making the change isn't easy. I know that all too well. If my love for Hanna and Harrison can make me change, then maybe his love for Deb can do the same for him. In any case, it was his connections that made it possible to come up with new identities, and it was Quinn who broke the news in as gentle a way can be done to Astor and Cody. From time to time we contact each other, Quinn and I, and he keeps me up to date on their progress. It appears that Astor is a little bit taken with Joe Quinn; I have no doubt that will pass. She's also found a very strong talent with computers and an interest in forensic sciences. Cody wants to be a cop just like Uncle Joey now. To his credit, Quinn is advising him not be like his Uncle, but more like the kind of cop that Aunt Deb was. I know that there are still people around to take care of them and that helps keep me moving. I already know Hanna can take care of herself and Harrison; so as much as I miss them both I can rest easy knowing they are ultimately better off without me._

 _But today is the Day. It's been two weeks since I arrived in Ogunquit, Maine. It's a pleasant little town; not quite a thousand people in the off season on the shore of the Atlantic. The locals are a nice enough bunch; even if I get the impression I will always be 'Stan Liddy from out of State' no matter how long I'm here. The truth is, I hope for that to be a long time. I even landed a full time job keeping the beach clean. The pay is fair, especially when one considers how quiet and simple life here promises to be. The locals, as I said, are pleasant, but seem to keep 'out of staters' at arm's length. That actually works for me. Today is the day I start on that job._

Dexter Morgan, now known as Stan Liddy, made his way along the beach of the small town of Ogunquit, Maine. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was his newest identity; it was based on the name of the corrupt Narcotics agent that tried to blackmail him and Lumen Pierce, thus nearly ruining their campaign to set things right for Lumen against Eugene Greer aka Jordan Chase and his little rape and murder club. On the other hand, it was just a name. He had his gear ready to begin his work cleaning the shoreline. It wasn't quite the season yet, so he couldn't imagine there would be much of a problem. There were a few tourists, but not nearly enough to cause any real trouble for the municipality just yet. Which was why when he saw the three heavy duty black garbage bags it struck him as unlikely. Almost as if by instinct, 'Stan' scanned the area for likely culprits. The bags probably washed ashore late last night. The beach itself was vacant save for himself this morning, but there was a couple of luxury boats out at sea; about two miles out. It didn't seem like that should be far enough out to him, but then the drop off around here was very sudden. He knew he should probably report the possibility that one of those boats were dropping litter off their bows; but that idea felt a little like hypocrisy.

 _Especially since my litter consisted of hacked up bodies into the Gulf Stream off the shores of Miami;_ He thought _._

Shrugging, Dexter strode up to the bags, intent on removing them and disposing of them properly so the beach would remain as beautiful as the town's name would indicate. That was, after all, his job now. On the shore, he clutched one of the bags and hefted it up, mildly surprised at how heavy it was. Then it occurred to him; _it came in from the sea, it must be filled with water. Lucky for me I have just the thing for a problem like this._

From the pocket of his blue jeans he pulled out a small pocketknife and folded the blade out. Carefully he made a small slit in the bag he just tried to lift; near the bottom but not too close and not too large. He didn't want the bag to break open and make an even bigger mess for him to have to clean up. Instantly water began to rush out of the bag; it had a reddish tint to it. Being who he was, what he had been through, and what he used to do, the tint reminded him of blood. He shook his head sharply to dismiss the thought.

"It's probably just red wine, or maybe discoloration from the contents of the trash." He said aloud. Since Harry never showed up in his mind's eye ever since he made the decision to elope with Hanna and Harrison, there was nobody to contradict this notion. Once the water had run out enough to satisfy him that lifting the bag would be simple enough, he clutched the bag again and hefted it up over his shoulder again. That was when the bag suddenly became feather light as the contents of the bag broke through the bottom of the bag and crashed into the sand behind him.

"Son of a..." he hissed, whirling around to assess exactly what kind of mess he had on his hands.

And then he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landed on his ass in the sand. There before him was a sight he never anticipated seeing ever again; there before him on the shores of Maine was a stark reminder of his former life in Florida. It was the remains of a human body; cut up into six parts. He could guess what was in the other two bags.

 _Quantico_

Luke Alvez stood in front of his desk at the bullpen; a little dumbstruck at what was left on it. There was a box, gift wrapped in red with an oversized yellow bow. The box was pinning down a yellow envelope with one word written on it: "NEWBIE". That was enough to let him to know about its origin; it was from Garcia. Was this some kind of peace offering? Curious, Alvez lifted the box and took the envelope. He opened it to find a card, which he opened and read. It said 'lots of love, your goddess of all things knowable.'

"Well, what do we have here?" Dave Rossi said from behind him, "a secret admirer?"

Alvez handed him the card. "Maybe a peace offering from Garcia," he replied. "This could be it; maybe I'm finally getting out of the newbie zone."

"I doubt it." Rossi chuckled. "But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Open the gift and find out."

Alvez opened the gift to find it was a box of milkbones. Now it all made perfect sense; Garcia got Rosie, his dog, something and decided to make a little bit of a game of it. He had to admit; it was well played. He had just come back from a little downtime, and it was strangely comforting to find the social dynamic was exactly as he remembered it. Looking around and saw that Reid was also finally back full time; at the moment he was at the coffee station, catching up with JJ; it made sense they would be as close as they were, they'd been part of this specific unit probably longer than anyone. He caught both Lewis and Walker on the way in as they were on their way out for some downtime of their own. This was a new rotation system Prentiss was trying out as a means to keep the team as fresh as possible.

Right then, Prentiss stepped out of her office and summoned the team to the ready room.

Garcia was already there when Emily walked in; ready to do her technical analyst stuff as the remainder of the team filed in close behind. Dave came in first, then Alvez, followed by JJ; whom Spencer let pass him by; a clear attempt at manners and social etiquette.

"Well, look who's finally back!" Dave shouted. "Here comes the boy genius."

Spencer waved awkwardly as the others applauded his return to full time work with the BAU. At length he sat down and asked Penelope what she had for them.

"As happy as I am to have you back, 187, I only wish I could say that I was glad you asked." Garcia replied. With that she clicked on device which produced a photograph of a beach with two trash bags and a pile of body parts. "Welcome to Ogunquit, Maine. Yesterday morning this beautiful place by the sea was marred when three trash bags filled with body parts washed ashore to be discovered by this man." Another click and the photo changed to one of a man with tousled, medium length hair and a beard that was in great need of some maintenance. "Stan Liddy; he's a retired Narcotics Detective with Miami Metro in the Sunshine State of Florida. Apparently he burned out of the force and first went west to Oregon and then eventually east to Maine where he picked up a job as a maintenance worker on the beach. He found the mess on his very first day on the job."

"Talk about some rotten luck." Alvez commented.

"No kidding," Rossi agreed.

"What else do we have, Garcia?" Prentiss asked, redirecting the team to the actual task.

Garcia clicked again. The image changed again, this time to a three-way split of three different bodies on M.E's tables; presumably at the County Morgue. The three were all male: one Latino, one Caucasian, and one African-American. Each of them cut into six parts: arms, legs, torso and head. The first one looked to be somewhere between 50 and 60. The second one, the Caucasian, was likely in his 30' last one looked like he couldn't be more than 15.

"One thing we know," JJ said, "this UNSUB isn't basing his victimology on race racial or age demographics."

"It could be he's targeting specific people for some personal reason." Spencer pointed out. "Have these victims been identified yet, Garcia?"

"That would be a negative on that, my young beautiful mind," Garcia replied. "Which is why Sheriff Ryan Burton contacted us so quickly; as I'm sure you all know, the State of Maine is sparsely populated, and to be more specific the town of Ogunquit has a permanent population of less than a thousand..."

"892" Spencer interjected. Everyone in the room was able to tell he was indulging them with the exact population of the town. Despite herself, Emily felt a mild smile cross her lips; it was good to see that Spencer was probably about as close to his old self as he was likely to ever get, especially with the condition his mother was in. At least she was in a place where she felt comfortable and safe and somewhat familiar to her.

"Very good, Dr. Reid," Garcia replied. "You may move to the head of the class. Anyways, the ME determined the cause of death in each of victim was a single stab wound to the heart, and that the stomach turning factor of separating the body parts was all done post mortem."

"A single stab wound to the chest," JJ said, "this guy's efficient. That suggests he doesn't waste a lot of time on the kill itself; the chopping and disposal is likely more important to him."

"The garbage bags could be his way saying that he's taking out the trash." Alvez added.

"There's something about this case that feels familiar," Rossi said. "I can't quite place it, but I'm sure the bureau has seen this before."

"It is similar to the Bay Harbor Butcher in Miami," Spencer offered. "Except then the bodies in bags were found by treasure hunters at the bottom of the sea."

"That's right," Rossi concurred, snapping his fingers. That was the last case Frank Lundy took on before he retired."

"Not quite," Spencer corrected. "Lundy went back to Miami after that to try to track down what he referred to as the Trinity Killer and that was when he got shot and killed; as it turned out, the shooter was the daughter of Arthur Mitchell, whom we now know is Trinity."

"I remember that Butcher case." Alvez said. "It was all over the news and made a lot of noise on Social Media across the country. There were lots of people who were calling that guy a hero. Maybe we have ourselves a copycat; a fan trying to replicate what happened in Miami."

"We won't know that for sure until we get an ID on our victims." Prentiss said. "Start packing; we're going to Maine. Wheels are up in ten minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

_Miami, Florida_

It was midnight. The Copycat Butcher was just about finished his work for the night. Nadine Michaelsen, a black widow was dead and all packed up; ready for disposal. Earlier that day, he read in the papers that his three previous victims turned up in Maine. That wasn't exactly what he hoped for, but the result was the same; his work made it to the papers. His plan was finally starting to come together. It was only a matter of time before the bodies were identified and the connection to the Bay Harbor Butcher was made, especially when Miami Metro finds his latest effort. The fact his work is in the news already is actually a good thing; chances were good that bitch Hanna McKay would see it and connect the dots. The goal here was to draw her out of hiding in Buenos Ares so he could finally catch her and be the big hero that brought her to justice.

There was a reason that Jacob Elway chose the Bay Harbor Butcher MO as a lure. After the murder of Dr. Evelyn Voegel all of her records mysteriously vanished. Since it was known that both Deb Morgan and her brother Dexter started seeing her right before she died, it made sense to see if either of them, especially Dexter, would eradicate those records for any reason. He knew that the both of them were helping Hannah get out of the country; and that Dexter had a particular motivation to help her since he was banging her. Elway still had some great connections with the cops; including the cyber crimes department. Using those connections, he was able to dig up the good doctors' back up files. He figured he'd find some dirt, but what he found was mind blowing goods.

James Doakes was not the Bay Harbor Butcher. Dexter Morgan was; he framed Doakes when the Sergeant was getting too close to learning the secret. What was even more mind-boggling was the fact that Evelyn not only knew about that all along, but she had actually helped Dexter to become the sick bastard he was. She and Harry Morgan developed a kind of code of ethics to prevent his being caught. According to Voegels' notes, both Hannah and Deb were aware of Dexter's extracurricular activities. Now Hannah was in the wind with Harrison. Deb was dead. The easiest thing to do to draw Hannah out would be to use this knowledge for leverage on Dexter or to simply turn him in. The problem with that angle was Dexter Morgan died in Hurricane Laura. That left just one option; convince Hannah that Dexter was alive and back n action. That was the purpose of the bags with felon body parts. He deliberately botched on weighing the bags down; he hoped they would wash up her in Miami. His guess was the Gulf Stream carried them and then a North Atlantic current caught them, hence how they ended up in Maine. It didn't really matter now.

Elway pulled his truck up to the beach. Stepping out of the driver's seat, he went around to the back and dragged Nadine's body bag out. Then he moved the bag down to the shore, just out of the reach of the tide. The dump would be found by the first jogger at dawn or some shit like that.

About an hour past Dawn – even before the morning briefing of the homicide department at Miami Metro – Detective Sergeant Joseph Quinn was standing on the beach with his colleagues; Lead Forensic Investigator Vincent Masuka was working his lab geek magic inside the tape posted around the trash bag filled with body parts while he and Scott Hamelin, his partner since Deb was taken down by that sick fuck shot her waited and Duncan Shaw pulled up. Quinn knew Scott briefly from Narcotics; he was a rookie there when Joe first got transferred into homicide. Shaw was some super cop detective that Lt. Miller hired in from San Francisco. It was a little after hurricane Laura that Angel got promoted to Captain, Miller to Lieutenant, and Quinn finally got the bump up to Sergeant. In a lot of ways, it still seemed a little surreal to him. It wasn't until Batista urged him to try for and eventually want to move forward in his career that he even thought about it. Then it was after Deb that he _really_ wanted to put an effort into not only advancing his career, but to fly straight as well.

"It's about time you decided to show up." Quinn called out to Shaw.

"I was following up on a lead on the Cooper case." Shaw replied. "You know that .38 we fished out of Loggerhead? That kid intern found a match on the serial number. Turns out it's registered to a guy named Charles Duggan. I looked into reports and what do you know? Duggan just so happened to report his gun stolen about an hour before the ETD of our guy Jason Cooper."

"That's convenient." Hamelin said.

"That sounds good." Quinn agreed. "Now how about we focus on the case we got right here?" He craned his neck over to Masuka. "What do you got, Vince?"

Vincent Masuka stood up, exhaling sharply. "What I have here is a masochist's masturbatorium of a mess." He replied. "It's hard to tell for sure if the severed limbs are post or ante mortem until I get these to the lab, but I can say whoever this is did a real hack job. We also got a single stab wound to the chest; right in the heart. So take your pick for cause of death. If you want to know where I put my money, though, I'd go with heartbreak hotel."

"I guess it would be too much to hope for any identification." Quinn said.

Masuka shook his head no. "She's nude." He said. "I'll check for fingerprints and trace DNA, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. If it's how it looks, this body washed up from the sea. The water most likely eradicated everything."

"Hey, I got a wallet over here!" Scott called out from a nearby bench. He brought it over, opening it up as he walked up to the group. "Here we go!" He said, producing a card. "Everybody, meet Nadine Michaelsen; age 45."

"Holy shit," Shaw said. "That black widow bitch just got out on bail pending her trial." Nadine Michaelsen was Duncan Shaw's first collar in Miami. Her husband died in the hospital after suddenly falling ill, and Nadine inherited a medium-sized fortune as the grieving widow. In cases like this, the spouse is always a suspect. In short order, Supercop Shaw put it all together and got his first solved as a detective with Miami Metro. As little as Quinn liked Angie Miller, she did know how to do her job as Lieutenant. Shaw was every bit as good as his record indicated.

Nodding, Quinn announced it's about time to get back for the morning briefing.

 _On the Plane_

The jet was just about to touch down when Garcia popped onto the screen, looking a lot less cheerful than her normal self. Prentiss knew that look all too well; it meant that whatever she found was unpleasant.

"What have you got for us, Garcia?" Prentiss asked.

"Well, my beautiful minds, the State ME just delivered the DNA identification on the three bags of bodies for us and I am sending those to your devices...now." She said, tapping a key which sent the information to their devices. The first one they were looking at was the older Latino.

"Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you posthumously to one Hector Corazon. He was a vet with the United States Marine Corps, served in Somalia until his unit got shelled, leaving him the lone survivor. He came home to Miami Florida where in a fit of PTSD he attacked and killed his next door neighbor. Upon realizing what he had done he turned himself in and his lawyers pleaded his case to a lesser sentence. Up until three weeks ago he was undergoing treatment. When he missed two consecutive sessions without a call his therapist reported him missing."

The next image was of the Caucasian.

"Is that who I think it is?" Rossi asked.

"If you're thinking that it's Alex Oxford aka One Shot Oxford, then you would be correct, Rossi." Garcia said.

"Hold up," Alvez interrupted. "Who is One Shot Oxford?"

"Alex 'One Shot' Oxford," Reid answered. "He's a suspected professional hit man, thought to have several connections to a number of terrorist organizations."

"He's been on the FBI'S ten most wanted list for at least five years." JJ added.

"The last time I checked he was thought to be hiding out in various places in Central America." Rossi said, "Haiti, Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, places like that."

"It would be easy to get into Florida from any one of those places." Reid pointed out. "In fact, someone could very easily set themselves up with a hideout in the Everglades and be able to move back and forth almost at will."

The image changed again, this time to the African-American kid.

"This, ladies gentlemen, is the most horrible one of all." Garcia said. "Meet Norman Grant. Last year he got involved with a Miami street gang and shot and killed a liquor store owner in an attempted robbery as part of his initiation. Because he was a minor his sentenced was reduced. He barely got out of Sunshine State Youth Correctional Facility when he met with this unpleasant end one week ago."

"Hold on," Alvez said. "All three of these victims have some kind of criminal record and live in or at least near the Miami area. I gotta say this is looking more and more like a copycat of the Bay Harbor Butcher."

"For once in a very rare occasion we agree Newbie." Garcia said. "And that theory is made all the more likely with this piece of work found in Miami this morning." She added a new image to their screens, this one of a woman who looked to be somewhere around 40. "Miami Metro Homicide found Nadine Michaelsen on the shore right around Dawn; her limbs and head parted from her torso, and handbag with a wallet including her ID found on a nearby bench. As it turns out, Nadine was out on bail pending her trial for poisoning her husband in order to obtain the estate. Detective Duncan Shaw, the arresting officer, was able to confirm her identification on site."

The plane finally touched down in Portland, Maine, where the team was to rendezvous with the Sherriff and from there be escorted to Ogunquit. Emily had to think fast; who was going on to Miami, and who was staying here in Maine? For reasons never really made clear, Dave seemed to have a distinct dislike for Miami, so keeping him in Ogunquit made for an easy choice. That meant she would go on. She still wasn't sure if Reid was fully ready for a full investigation, but she would need him to go over all the files on the Butcher that Miami Metro had. She reasoned she could keep watch on him there; maybe keep him busy in the station. JJ might not be from Maine, so just like all of them she would be from 'Out Of State', but she did grow up in a small town, so she was likely able to adjust her behavior to their small town culture, which would put local law enforcement at ease about Federal Agents invading their town.

"Garcia, contact Miami Metro and let them know we're coming and will need all information they have on the Bay Harbor Butcher. Dave, you and JJ go to Ogunquit work on the body discoveries there. Alvez, Reid, and I will wait until the jet is refueled and go on to Miami; the fact that another body turned up there says this copycat is most likely operating there." 


	3. Chapter 3

_Ogunquit, Maine_

The Medical Examiner was the first place that Rossi and JJ asked Sherriff Burton take them; the plan was that Rossi would get dropped off there to get a full report on the victimology of this copycat, and JJ would go to the beach where he would talk to Stan Liddy. Rossi saw Alvez off right after he was introduced to the ME. Presently, he was in the room, looking at three bodies with their body parts matched together.

"So tell me what we've got here." Rossi opened the dialogue.

The ME took a deep breath. "What we have here is three dismembered bodies." He started with the obvious. "The arms, legs, and head were all removed post mortem. The tool marks tell me that this was done with something heavy and sharp; maybe a meat cleaver or an axe, possibly a machete." He indicated the rough look of the cuts; really more like tears in the flesh and breaks in the bones of Hector- presumably the first victim based on the order they went missing according to what Garcia found. "See here? It's a really messy job. Whoever did this really had no clue what they were doing."

Rossi nodded. That meant they were probably dealing with a rookie. Maybe their copycat was some kid who thought mimicking the infamous Bay Harbor Butcher was a quick way to fame. It was still far too early to say for sure, but it was as good a start as any. "Then it's a safe bet the stab wound is the cause of death." He said rather than asked.

"Yes," the ME replied, again directing Rossi's attention to Hector. "There's definite hesitation marks on this one, like the killer wasn't sure if he wanted to go through with it." Then he went to One Shot, the assassin. "Here there are still hesitation marks, but not quite so pronounced. The marks on the limbs and head are still a mess, but..."

"He's gaining confidence." Rossi finished for him. "That or he had a lot less objection to killing a hitman than he did an ex-vet who went over the edge."

"We don't get anything this big around here, so I'll defer to you on that." The ME said. "But if you ask me, I would guess the later. If you look at this last victim, you can see that the hesitation marks are even more pronounced than on the first one."

"Killing a person is bad enough, but killing a kid is a whole different ball game." Rossi agreed. One thing was coming clear now; this UNSUB was a killer, but not likely a psychopath. This wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, but rather something he felt was a necessary means to some kind of end. That meant there was a specific reason each victim was chosen. What they needed to do now was figure out what that reason is.

 _"Well, Dex, it looks like you really shit the fuckin' bed, doesn't it?"_

Dexter Morgan looked up from the trash bin he was changing and towards the sea. There, in what he knew was his minds' eye, he saw Debra standing just beyond the waterline at high tide. _This is a new development. It's been years since I've seen Harry, and the ghost of my sister has never been a part of this._

Back in 2013, right before Hurricane Laura hit Miami, Daniel Voegel aka Oliver Saxon aka the Brain Surgeon shot Debra. This was after Dexter called Deb regarding the whereabouts of their suspect because right at the moment of truth he decided that he no longer wanted to kill. For the first time ever, his feelings for Hannah actually overshadowed his desire to kill completely. Deb responded to the call; but then that Marshal showed up and released Saxon. Saxon killed the Marshal just as Deb showed up, then he shot her and made his escape. Deb got a shot off, wounding Saxon, and then contacted emergency. She died later that day in the hospital. _It was my fault; there's nobody to blame except me. Is this ghost here to remind me what I'm responsible for? Is she here to remind me of exactly what I've done and who I really am?_

 _"Saxon shot me, dumbass! What you did was prevent me from becoming a fuckin' vegetable. That's not what I'm talking about."_ Then Deb pointed behind him. Dexter turned around and saw Sherriff Burton and an attractive blonde woman walking towards him. For the briefest of moments his thoughts went to Hannah Mackay and Harrison; for a fraction of a second he thought the woman was Hannah, back from Argentina. It was only a split second, but even those was long enough cause him to nearly start running towards her; to go to her and hold her and kiss her warmly...

 _"Watch yourself, Dexter,"_ it was Harry's ghost speaking to him now, standing right beside him. This was a ghost he was used to; even after all these years. _"This could be some kind of trap. They may be on to you and trying to trip you up..."_

Taking that possibility into account, Dexter approached the Sherriff and his counterpart with carefully measured steps; not too slowly so as to show signs of reluctance, and not too quickly so as to arouse any suspicion of haste.

"Hi, Stan," Sherriff Ryan Burton greeted. "I'm sorry to have to drag you back into all of this, but since you called those body bags in I had to contact the FBI; a town like this just isn't equipped for a case like this."

"Good afternoon, Sherriff," Dexter replied. "It's no problem; I kind of expected it, really." _Burton is a good cop and a good person. He's right, though; a town like this needs all the help it can get. Even more important, a town like this doesn't deserve to have something like this dropped on its shores._

Ryan pointed at the woman. "This right here is Special Agent Jennifer Jareau of the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI. She wanted to talk with the man who found the bodies."

 _"The FBI, Dexter,"_ Harry's ghost told him. _"Not only that, but it's the BAU. You need to be careful. These people are trained to read people like you."_

Agent Jareau extended her hand to him; Dexter took it and noted her pleasingly firm grip as they shook hands. He also saw her wedding band. _I wonder how her husband handles her being away. They must a have a very strong bond if they can make it work._

"I'm very sorry to step into your day, Mr. Liddy," she said. "I just need to ask you a few questions and then I'll be out of your way."

Dexter nodded. "Of course, I'll be happy to help if I can."

Agent Jareau smiled. "First, do you mind telling me again about how you found the bodies?"

"Sure," Dexter replied. This was easy enough; all he had to do was tell the truth. "I came out here to start my shift and I saw what I thought at the time was three trash bags of litter right along the tide line." He pointed at the exact spots where the bags were. "I also saw that there were three boats out on the sea, and my original idea was that maybe one or all of them decided the best way to get rid of their trash was to dump it overboard. As it is part of my job description, I attempted to pick them up for proper disposal. The first bag I picked up broke, the contents fell out, I turned around and there I saw it was body parts. That's when I called Sherriff Burton over there."

"You said there were three boats out at sea," the agent confirmed. "By any chance did you get the names of those boats?"

Dexter had. "I sure did," he replied. "They were the Maine Stream, the Atlantic Dreamer, and the Neptune Explorer."

"I know where all three of those dock," Sherriff Ryan announced. "But I can assure you they're good, local folks. There's no way any of them had anything to do with this."

JJ turned her attention over to the Sherriff. "I'm sure you're probably right Sherriff," she said, "and believe me when I say the last thing any of us want is to upset the apple cart around here. On a more personal level, I completely understand just how troubling the presence of Federal Agents can be to the balance of a place like this town of yours. All we want to do is gather what information we can and get out of your way."

Dexter was impressed with this agent; she read Sherriff Burton like a book and said exactly the right thing in exactly the right way. She even included a subtle flip of her hair at just the right moment, thus putting the Sherriff at ease.

"If you can just take me back to the ME's where we can get Agent Rossi, and then to the owners of those boats, maybe we can determine if they saw anything."

 _"There are two of them here, Dex."_ Debra's ghost said, still nearer the water than Harry was. _"That's like two Lundy's at the same time. You'll want to watch your fuckin' step."_

Ryan nodded, apparently consoled by the agents' charms. "Well, I guess that'd be alright." He said. "It's why I called you in, I s'pose."

The two them turned to leave, and then Agent Jareau doubled back. "Mr. Liddy, before I go, I wanted to check just a couple more things." She said, and before Dexter could reply she continued. "If I'm to understand correctly you were once with Miami Metro Police, right? It was Narcotics, right?"

 _At least my cover identity is holding up._

"That's right," he confirmed, and added in anticipation of the next question: "I just burned out of the whole law enforcement scene, you know? It was day in and day out of the same thing; crime, violence, corruption, and worst of all the politics of it all." He hastened to add: "Not to say anything bad about the department itself or anyone specific in there; they're great people. I just couldn't do it anymore."

"I understand completely." Jareau said. "It's just that this case has a lot of similarities to a case that took place in Miami a few years ago. Are you at all familiar with the Bay Harbor Butcher Case?"

 _Harry was right. She's trying to trip me up; put me at ease and then rattle my cage a little._

"Not really, no," he answered. "It wasn't my department. I do seem to remember that one of your guys was around back then, and I did hear it turned out to be a cop; Sergeant Doakes, I think."

"You have a good memory!" the Agent said. "Yes, it was James Doakes. Did you happen to know him?"

"I'm not sure if anyone really knew him when I look back." Dexter said. "I do remember he was always angry, though. Sorry I can't be more helpful."

"That's fine, Mr. Liddy. Thank you for your time." She said, turning away and producing a phone.

 _"Remember what Dr. Voegel said about how that anger didn't fit the Butcher's Profile, Dex."_ Harry's ghost warned. Dexter wasn't sure where he picked up referring to them as ghosts; they were more like memories.

"Come to think of it," he said aloud, allowing the agent to turn and face him again. "In hindsight Doakes's anger always seemed a little on the nose to me."

That caught JJ's attention. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he was always storming around, cussing and swearing like he had a major axe to grind with everyone. At the time most figured it was some kind of holdover from his time with Special Forces, but now that I have a little distance, it seemed a little bit deliberate; like he was trying to convince everybody he an angry person that should not be crossed. Maybe that was some kind of cover or defensive measure." He said. "I'm just guessing, of course, but on the force I dealt with people who put on false faces all the time," _like my own,_ "and after awhile I got to being able to pick it out. Most of the time it was a face of calm, but I don't see a reason why someone couldn't put up an angry badass personae just as easily."

"That's a good point. We'll keep it in mind." She smiled as she turned away with her phone. She addressed someone named Dave and said they were on their way back before she and the Sherriff got out of earshot.

 _Who's Dave? Is that her husband? Or is it the other agent, this Rossi she mentioned?_

 _"You're starting to sound like the old fuckin' serial killer Dexter Morgan again!"_ Deb warned. _"Let this go, Dex. You got a somewhat normal life now; maybe pathetic and sad, but normal. Don't go stepping on your dick trying to fix something that doesn't need fixing."_

 _"She's right, Dexter."_ Harry agreed with Deb; maybe for the first time ever. _The best thing you can do right now is step back from this. At the very least wait and see what else turns up before doing anything."_

"Maybe you're right." Dexter said to people who weren't really there. Agent Jareau was right; this was way too similar to his old work to be a coincidence. That meant there was a copycat out there somewhere, and that meant the FBI would have to revisit the original Butcher case. He covered his tracks before; even after LaGuerta reopened the case and got dangerously close to solving it. That didn't mean this Jennifer Jareau and Rossi person couldn't have found something that everyone, even him had missed...

 _Miami, Florida_

Fresh out of Deputy Chief Thomas Matthews' office, Captain Angelo Batista stepped into the briefing room at Miami Metro Homicide just as Lieutenant Angela Miller opened up, asking first about the progress being made on the Jason Cooper case.

"The pistol that we fished out of the Loggerhead Marina had a serial number match to one registered to Charles Duggan," Shaw reported. "I checked with Robbery and this is the same Charles Duggan that reported a stolen pistol about an hour before the ETD of the victim."

"Ballistics just came back," Masuka added. "The bullet that killed our guy came from that gun."

"Do we have anything that connects Duggan to Cooper?" Angie asked.

"I asked around the club that Cooper worked at." Shaw responded. "Two days before the shooting, Cooper threw Duggan out for harassing one of the servers." Jason Cooper was a professional wrestler who plied his trade under the stage name "The Juggernaut" JC, and supplemented his income part time as a bouncer at the Hoodoo Nights Night Club.

"It's not an airtight case yet, but it's enough to bring Duggan in for questioning." Miller said. Shaw nodded. "What about this body bag case? What do we have on that?"

"Detective Shaw gave us a positive ID on the victim." Quinn jumped in. "45 year old Nadine Michaelsen, out on bail pending her trial for the murder of her husband Robert Michaelsen. Identification is confirmed by a drivers' license located on the scene."

"The scene is a dump site, but that should be obvious." Masuka added. "DNA verification is pending, but so far it looks like this is indeed the same woman that Shaw arrested. Beyond that, I'm not optimistic about finding any other DNA evidence. No fingerprints found on the body or the bag it was stored in."

"What do we know about the body?" Miller asked.

"The cause of death was a single stab wound to the chest; right above the heart." Astor Morgan, Masuka's latest and greatest intern said. "We found hesitation marks on the wound. The body was dismembered post mortem, most likely with a machete; really sloppy work, too." It wasn't much of a surprise that Astor, Dexter's stepdaughter, would take an interest in this kind of work. Dexter was one of the best forensic technicians Miami Metro had ever seen. He married Rita Bennett mother of Astor and Cody. Then, as Debra Morgan was closing in on Arthur Mitchell – the Trinity Killer – Arthur tracked down and murdered Rita. It really only made sense that both Astor and Cody would take an interest in fields that would put them in positions to help capture the bad guys after losing their mother like that. Astor was something of a computer wizard already, and now she showed a lot of promise in forensics. Cody was looking into becoming a cop.

"I'm sure everyone here knows how familiar this case looks," Batista interjected. "You all know exactly what I'm talking about. Since I was part of the investigation team on the original Butcher case, I'm stepping in and taking lead on what looks and feel like a probable copycat. I'm also pulling Sergeant Quinn to assist me."

Lieutenant Miller turned her head to face the Captain, and then scanned the room quickly with her eyes as was her habit when trying to decide what the best call would be. "That'll be fine," she said. "Quinn, you're with the Captain on this one."

"Got it," Quinn acknowledged, doing his best not to pump his fists as if in victory. Angel had to admit that immediately following Deb's death he was worried about Quinn; given how close those two were as partners –even as lovers – there was a damn good chance Joe Quinn would spiral out of control. That was why when Batista got bumped to Captain he promoted Miller instead of Quinn. He also very nearly advised against Miller making him her Sergeant until she said she believed putting Quinn in a position of authority and therefore responsibility will help him stay focused; maybe even give drive to do good to honor Deb's memory. As it worked out, Miller was right.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant," Shaw objected. "But since the victim was my arrest, I'm most familiar with this case. I should be lead on it."

"It's exactly because of your association with the victim that you are not, Detective." Miller countered. "The last thing we need is for the courts or God forbid the press to have any ammunition that would even suggest that our investigation is being tampered with. You know as well as I do that is exactly what would happen if the detective who arrested someone is the same one who investigates her murder just days after she makes bail on appeals."

Detective Shaw relented his point. It was understandable that he was reluctant to do so, but Miller was making the right call and Shaw knew it.

"Do we have any leads on the body dump?" Miller asked.

"At the moment we do not." Quinn admitted.

"Then we have a lot of work to do." Miller responded. "Start with Shaw and all he has on Michaelsen. There might be a specific reason she was chosen." Even as Quinn nodded in agreement Miller dismissed the briefing. As she did so Angel grabbed Quinn.

"Come with me for a second first." He ordered. "You can talk to Shaw after this; Matthews wants to see us right now." Quinn followed Angel to Matthew's office.

The Deputy Chief had Angel close the door behind them. To Joe's mind that was never a good sign. He racked his brain; did he fuck up somewhere recently? For the life of him he couldn't think of how or when.

"I just got a call from the FBI." Matthews said, not wasting any time with pleasantries. "They're sending three agents here from Ogunquit Maine, and are asking for all information we have on the Bay Harbor Butcher. All because three bodies in similar condition to the Butcher's victims washed up on the shore there and were discovered by someone named Stan Liddy."

Now it made sense. Stan Liddy was the name of Dexter's new alias. That meant Dexter found the bodies and called it in. The rest of the conversation was pretty much unnecessary; they had to make sure that Dexter's cover solid. Quinn knew it was; he made sure he put the best people he knew on that. Before he met Deb, Joe Quinn had a long and checkered past playing both sides of the law; both here and back in New York. One thing he learned early on is that the best way to lie is to tell the truth as much as possible. The trick was to word the truth in just the right way in order convey the message you want. This was why Stan Liddy was now a former Narcotics agent with the Miami Metro Police department. Due to burn out, Stan Liddy went into early retirement. The fact that Liddy was in Narcotics was completely true. The fact of early retirement was also true; except that the retirement was due to the fact that Stan was as dirty as they come, and IA caught up to him through a sting operation. In the event that Dex should find his identity under investigation, the sting was included in his background, but then doctored to look like that sting operation screwed up an undercover operation, and was the last straw leading to his retirement. Dexter's cover was solid. All the same, Quinn would have to go and talk his person and make sure all the I's were dotted and all T's were crossed; at least on the digital front. This conversation was safe in this room; all three of them knew that Dexter Morgan was still alive. Out of respect for his wishes, it was important to keep those who knew of this in a very tight circle.

"Well, we've got a lot of work to do and we have to get it done fast." Matthews urged. "The Feds are going to be here within the next two hours."


	4. Chapter 4

_Miami, Florida_

There was a distinct chill in the air as Prentiss, Reid, and Alvez entered the homicide department of Miami Metro headquarters. Although this was not a new thing when Federal agents come into a department, this time it felt especially pronounced to Emily. She could guess why; several local police departments had issues with jurisdiction. They didn't like to have their turf infringed upon. A few years ago, the Bureau took over the manhunt for Arthur Mitchell, known now as the Trinity Killer. This was after Debra Morgan, one of theirs, fingered Mitchell through extensive review of Frank Lundy's notes. The big catch in that was that the Bureau dismissed Lundy's theory on Trinity for years, until Lundy was killed and Morgan was shot while investigating Trinity independently.

At this moment, two of Metro's detectives approached the team. In the lead was an African American woman, the younger of the two, well dressed and very professional looking; she was clearly career motivated and likely highly driven to advance. The other was a Hispanic male and clearly much more laid back. What really stuck about him were his hat and his ugly print shirt; it reminded her of her drapes back home.

The woman extended her hand and Emily took it. "You're with the Bureau, right?" she greeted. "I'm Lieutenant Angie Miller, Miami Metro Homicide, and this is Captain Angelo Batista."

"I'm SSA Emily Prentiss; this is SSA Luke Alvez, and SSA Dr. Spencer Reid." Emily returned the greeting.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Batista said after the round of greetings. "I'll take care of these agents from here." Miller left, and then Batista turned his attention to Prentiss and her team. "I understand you're here for our records on the Butcher case. I'm sure you're aware that we've had a new body dump that looks like a copycat this morning; since I was part of the previous investigation I decided to lead on the case. I have the files ready for you in my office if you and your partners will come with me."

"Lead the way." Prentiss said. Batista lead them to his office, where two boxes marked BAY HARBOR BUTCHER sat on his desk. Predictably enough, Spencer went straight to them; given his IQ, eidetic memory, and speed reading abilities it only made sense that he would be the one who would go over the hard copy files. Emily was about to ask the Captain what he could recall about the original case when there was light tapping on the door and two people popped their heads in; one male and one female, both Caucasian. The male was about her age, and made no secret about giving her a look over and his grin, while not leering or offensive, made it clear he liked what he saw. The female, twenty years old at most, paused and took a gander at Spencer; a subtle blush response suggested an attraction, but her expression was more like one a fan might have when she realizes she is the vicinity of a celebrity.

"Oh, good," Captain Batista said, "Quinn, I was just about to call you in. These are the Federal Agents the DC told us about. Agents Prentiss, Alvez, and Reid, meet Sergeant Joey Quinn. He's also on the copycat case and will be able to give you whatever you might need." He indicated the girl. "This is Astor Morgan, an intern in our forensics department with our lead forensics investigator Vincent Masuka."

"Hi," she said nervously, her eyes lingering on Spencer for a moment before shifting her attention back to the Captain. "Professor Masuka says he's ready for them."

"That's great." Batista said. "Quinn, would you take these agents to the lab?"

"Sure thing, Captain," Quinn replied. "Also, I just finished talking to Shaw about Michaelsen, the latest victim." He held up a file. "As it turns out Nadine had hired Elway Investigations to look into her husband under the suspicion that he was having an affair. Apparently Jacob Elway found that he was, and then Nadine abruptly opted against pressing charges. That could be due to a prenuptial agreement."

"Excuse me," Spencer interjected, "but can I ask why that is relevant?"

"Nadine Michaelsen was just released on bail pending trial for the charge of murdering her husband," Quinn answered, "hence why she fits into a BHB copycat motive."

"That makes sense." Alvez said. "The wife gets proof that her husband is a cheat, but a pre-nup says she gets nothing if she divorces him. So she kills him in a way she hopes will look either natural or an accident so she can be the grieving spouse who gets everything."

Batista nodded slowly. "I get it," he said quietly. "That would fit into the kind of people Doakes would have targeted. This copycat is trying to replicate the same trend as the original."

"It certainly appears that way." Prentiss agreed. "We'll know more after we get full details on the body. Spencer, review all the records on the original Butcher and cross reference it with what we have so far on the copycat. Alvez, you and I will see what Masuka can give us." She addressed Batista. "Captain, we'll need a space to centralize our investigation. Can you take Agent Reid to a place where he can go over the files?"

"Sure thing," the Captain replied. "We have the briefing room all set up for you now."

"Also, can I have that file on the copycat's newest victim?" Spencer hastily requested from Quinn. Quinn handed the file to Spencer, though Emily detected it was ever so slightly begrudgingly.

The Captain led Spencer to the briefing room, the intern close in tow. Meanwhile the Sergeant led Alvez and Prentiss to the lab. That was when Alvez's phone rang. He looked at the display and said it was Garcia and that he would catch up in a minute before stepping away. That left Emily with Quinn.

"Sergeant, can I make one thing clear right now?" Emily asked, stopping their walk.

"Sure thing," he replied, giving her what she was willing to bet was his best winning smile. "But first, call me Joey, please."

"Fair enough," Emily allowed. "I'm aware that the relations between Miami Metro- particularly homicide – and the Bureau are probably quite strained, Joey, so I just want to assure you that we are not here to hijack your case in any way; we are only here to help you determine who's doing this."

Joey sized her up; probably trying to read her and determine if she was being honest. Finally he nodded. "That's fair," he said. "I'll tell you what; I'll do my best to put aside any old grievances, okay?" He extended his hand and Emily shook it. Then Joey tapped on the door beside them. "Welcome to the lab," he said. "Before we go in there, I should warn you that Masuka is very good at his job, but around here we try to keep him in the lab as much as possible."

"Not much on social graces, is he?" Emily ventured a guess.

Joey chuckled lightly. "You'll find out soon enough." He said, opening the door.

Inside the lab, there was an older Asian male; bald and bespectacled, mouth gaping open as he stared intently at Prentiss, clearly undressing her with his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Vince, close your mouth at least! You're drawing flies!" Quinn exclaimed, and then said as an aside to Emily. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Vince snapped his mouth shut, and Joey said: "SSA Emily Prentiss let me introduce you to Vincent Masuka, our Lead Forensic Investigator. Vince, this is Emily Prentiss with the BAU of the FBI."

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" Vince said. "I mean. I knew the Feds were sending someone, but I had no idea they'd send the answer to all of my most lurid fantasies." He paused, and then realized what he just said. "Please don't charge me or the department."

"I think I'll let it go this time." Emily replied. "What can you tell me about the victim?"

Vincent Masuka let out a sigh of relief and began his review of the victim.

While Masuka was going over the details of the copycat's most recent victim with the other agents and Uncle Joey, Astor Morgan stood outside the briefing room, watching SSA Spencer Reid scan through the files that Angel had left for him. She was mesmerized at how fast he going through them. She had never seen this first hand, but she had heard rumors, and had read everything he had written. Now he was here, in the flesh, in Miami, no more than 15 feet away from her. She could feel her heart beat raise a little. He was not only super-smart, but also super-hot, too.

"Don't you have something better to do?"

Startled, Astor looked over her shoulder to find the Captain standing over her. "Captain Batista, sir," she exclaimed, "I'm sorry! It's just that..."

Batista interrupted. "It's alright, Astor," he said. "With the Feds here they can be distracting. I get it. But we still have a lot of things going on around here besides them; just try to keep that in mind." He patted her shoulder, and as an afterthought added; "and one more thing; please, call me Angel, will you? Dexter was your stepfather and he was like familia around here. Just like his sister who was your aunt, so that makes you familia too."

A little more at ease, Astor nodded. Then she looked back at Dr. Reid. "Do you realize who that is?" She asked.

"Sure I do," Angel replied. "That's agent Reid; one of the three Feds that got sent in to review the original Butcher case."

Astor shook her head. "That's _Dr. Spencer Reid_ of the FBI! He's a super genius with expertise in pretty much everything, and you gotta see this!" she pointed excitedly through the window. Angel looked and watched as Reid basically scanned page after page of the file like a machine.

"Sweet Jesus," Angel said. "Can that guy really read that fast?"

"Yeah," Astor answered, privately scathing at the amount of dreamy admiration in her voice, "and he's got a photographic memory; whatever he reads he remembers instantly and forever."

"It sounds like he's got himself a fan." Angel commented.

"Are you kidding me?" Astor asked, "He's like a rock star among the geeks in academic circles."

Angel smiled warmly. "You know, every time I see you I'm reminded of your aunt and your stepfather." He said. "They were both smart and driven, just like you. They were good people, and I'm glad to have a Morgan back in the department again."

Astor smiled back. "Thanks," she said. Angel spoke of Aunt Deb and Dexter in the past tense; he must have thought they were both dead. Aunt Deb was, but Dexter wasn't. She probably wasn't supposed to know that, but Uncle Joey admitted it last year. He explained that Dexter had to go; he felt like he was ruining the lives of everybody around him and was sure the only way he could mitigate the damage was to disappear altogether. In a weird way, Astor understood; and felt like she was at least partly responsible for his idea. When Cody and Harrison's and her mom were killed by that awful Trinity guy, she blamed Dexter for making their lives worse. At the time, she thought his lack of expressive emotion was because he didn't care. She later realized that wasn't it at all; it was really because the emotions were so big he couldn't process it. It was also probably because he was trying to be strong so he could take of her and Cody and Harrison. Then his boss got shot by the guy who killed his mom when he was a baby. Then his doctor and Aunt Deb both got killed by that Oliver Saxon guy right before the storm. Then Saxon tried to kill Dexter, and Dexter killed Saxon in self defense; that's what both Angel and Uncle Joey said. After that, Dexter apparently stole Aunt Deb's body and took his boat out into the storm, where he died.

Or at least that was the going story. Astor found out that somehow Dexter faked his death and ran for it. When she confronted Uncle Joey about it, he finally admitted it and explained why. Then he asked her to help set up a fake ID for Dexter; stressing how important it was that she keeps it under wraps and make sure the ID is airtight. He even gave her the info to put into the new identification. Part of her wanted to be mad at Dexter for running, but really she couldn't be; so much bad stuff happened to him that she couldn't really blame for. If anything, right now she just felt glad he was still alive and hoped he found some kind of peace.

 _Ogunquit, Maine_

As soon as his shift on the beach was complete, Dexter Morgan headed straight for home; not that any of native residents would think anything of that. As far as they were concerned, that was pretty much normal for 'Stan from Out of State'. So far the closest he has come to any sort of social activity has been one visit to a local diner where he had a steak dinner with a bottle of Canadian beer, and he once splurged a little a bought a box of fresh donuts which he donated the Sherriff's office. This later was taken as a token of good will to the community and the local law enforcement – as was intended- but also served to add to the his cover as a former cop himself. It came off as a kind of professional courtesy call. It was exactly as Dexter intended. The fact that 'Stan from Out of State' went straight home after work would not so much as raise an eyebrow in Ogunquit, so there was no chance that Federal Agents Jareau and Rossi would be notified of anything strange or out of the ordinary there. That was also exactly what Dexter Morgan was hoping for. Once home, Dexter opened up his laptop to begin his research. He needed to find out all he could on Agents Jareau and Rossi; while he was at it he decided he might as well learn all he could about the bodies he found that morning.

 _"Falling into old patterns, son?"_ Harry's memory challenged.

"This is different." Dexter insisted aloud; figuring it was safe to speak to someone who wasn't there when no one was there to hear him. "I need to know all I can find out in order to decide what course of action, if any, in the event they are on to me. That goes to the first rule of the code, right?"

SSA Jennifer Jareau ('JJ' to her friends and coworkers) was simple enough to find. She was formerly the public relations liaison for the BAU before moving up to the position of Profiler under the tutelage of SSA Aaron Hotchner (retired), and SSA David Rossi, who was evidently one of the very first Profilers in the department. There was also mention of one SSA Jason Gideon (deceased), as well as SSA Dr. Spencer Reid in her bio. She was currently married to William LaMontagne, a detective originally from New Orleans, but more recently with the Washington, D.C. Metro Police. Together they had two children; Henry, and Michael. Her former position is currently held by technical analyst Penelope Garcia.

Dexter took note of all of this, as well as the fact she grew up in a small town, was very athletic, and had a sister who committed suicide. Also as a point of interest, she briefly stepped away from the Bureau and the BAU to work in the Department of Defense. _That's important to know; it could mean she has a very long and dangerous reach._

Interestingly, SSA David Rossi was even easier to gather information on. _Sometimes, celebrity status works against a man._ He was a former US Marine, ranked Sergeant Major, had a specialty in hostage negotiation, and played a founding role in the development of the BAU shortly after being recruited into the FBI.

 _"Well ain't that a motherfucker?"_ Deb's memory commented. _"You got yourself a brand new Frank Lundy."_

"As if I didn't realize that; thank you."

He was three times divorced; in one of those marriages now technically a widower with one daughter to anyone's knowledge. He was also a published author and renowned instructor and recruiter. In 1997 he retired early in order to do book tours, and returned in 2007. Since his return, he has acted as Senior Supervisory Agent, and has taken lead on putting together several profiles on multiple serial killers. _If they are on to me, they're bringing out the big guns._

Taking note of both of these agents, Dexter moved on to the bodies. All three had been identified, and apparently the going theory was that they were the work of a Bay Harbor Butcher copycat. _That's a little too close for comfort. Could this be my Curse coming back on me?_

The first victim, Hector Corazon, was someone Dexter was familiar with. In the year between his encounters with Jordan Chase and Travis Marshal, Hector was one of many that Dexter looked into. Immediately after attacking and killing his neighbor, Corazon turned himself in and was diagnosed with PTSD resulting from a shelling he took while on tour in Somalia. He was granted a lesser sentence. Dexter monitored him closely for three months before becoming convinced that Hector was genuinely remorseful for his actions and was taking his therapy seriously. Convinced of that, Dexter actually felt a degree of compassion for Hector and determined that he did not fit the Code. Apparently his so-called copycat disagreed.

The second Victim, Alex 'One Shot' Oxford, was a suspected assassin on the FBI's ten most wanted list. It was believed he had hideouts throughout Central America, and possibly one in the Everglades of Florida. Dexter was also aware of this monster, but was never able to locate him; which was probably just as well, given how high profile he was. _Still, Oxford would have made an excellent blood-slide._

 _"Really, Dex"_ Deb's memory butted in again. _"Are you even fuckin' hearing yourself?"_

"What" Dexter retorted. "It's just an observation!" It marveled Dexter that even now, as a memory, Deb had possibly the foulest potty mouth he had ever heard.

Dexter didn't know the third one. He was a 15 year old kid named Norman Grant who accidentally shot the owner of a liquor store in an attempted robbery. Given the other information given, this was certainly not one that fit the Code.

All three victims of this so called copycat hailed from Miami or nearby. The only way Dexter could see how the three ended up on the shores of Maine was they were poorly weighed down. The Gulf Stream carried them until a north Atlantic current caught them and washed them ashore. It struck Dexter as if the Curse really was catching up to him; again. Now he had to know; _was this copycat still at work? Were there more bodies in Miami yet?_ He looked it up, and found one almost immediately. That very morning the dismembered body of Nadine Michaelsen, out on bail for the murder of her husband was found by a jogger on the beaches of Miami. Her husband was originally thought to have died of heart attack, until traces of Aconite were found in his system and on the inside of a glass of brandy in his home. It was only a matter of time before the BAU went down there as well. His mind scrambling, Dexter Morgan frantically tried to find any good in this situation. With a copycat out there, odds were good that the original Bay Harbor Butcher case- his case- would be reviewed. Even with the case officially closed twice over with James Doakes as the perp, there was a remote chance something he missed might be found by what was looking like a team of the finest minds in the Bureau. He had to start preparing for the worst; and soon if he wanted to survive.

 _At least there was no way the FBI could regard me a suspect for these copycat murders, and at least Dexter Morgan is believed to be dead..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Ogunquit, Maine_

They were just stepping into Val's Steakhouse, which boasted the best steak and lobster in the east, when David Rossi's phone rang. Less than a second later, JJ's rang too. With a bare glance at her display, JJ saw it was Garcia. Earlier that day, she called Garcia to do a background check on Stan Liddy. He wasn't remotely a suspect, especially since it was apparent all three bodies came from Miami, and Liddy wasn't even in the state of Florida at the estimated times of their deaths. The problem was that JJ wasn't sure if Liddy was being completely honest. His answers earlier all seemed so...guarded.

"Thanks for calling back so quick, Garcia." JJ said.

"Oh, my darling, you say that as if you thought I would let you down." Garcia said back with her trademark cheerful exuberance. "As per your request, I looked into one Stan Liddy. His record checks out as a Narcotics detective with Miami Metro Police, now retired as of 2011. The official reason given for his early retirement is burn out; but, upon closer examination I found an altercation with Internal Affairs right before said retirement. The altercation was in the file, but mentioned only in cursory manner and placed in such a way that it could easily be missed or glossed over by any but the most discerning of analysts. I'm awaiting your complimentary reply...now."

JJ smiled. Her playful manner, designed to lighten everybody's mood, was one of Penelope's most endearing traits. The team wouldn't be right without her. "You're the best, Garcia."

"Aw, thank you for saying so." Garcia chimed with exaggerated humility. "But wait! There's more! As it turns out the IA altercation was a big misunderstanding; Liddy was part of a Deep Cover operation which IA basically ruined. Liddy's Union Rep did manage to straighten the issue out on paper, but due to the stress of so many of his fellow officers regarding him with suspicion, Stan Liddy quit the force and headed out towards Oregon."

"Wait," JJ replied. "That doesn't make much sense. When I asked him about his retirement he made it sound like he had nothing against them."

"Oh" Garcia said quietly. "Well, based on my near pathological need to see the good in everyone, I guess it could be he doesn't blame his former coworkers for the way they feel, but holds IA specifically responsible for ruining his otherwise stellar career. Based on his records, if it weren't for the mix-up, he may have had a decent shot at one day being Deputy Chief or even better."

"Maybe," JJ agreed, still not certain. Hanging up, she Joined Dave who was also apparently done his conversation and had found a table. As was his habit, he had arranged payment for transport of the remains and the memorial service of Norman Grant on the way here following his visit to the Medical Examiner. The Marine Corps would take care of Corazon, and since Oxford had no known next of kin, the State could deal with him.

"I just spoke with Emily." Dave announced as JJ sat. "We'll have to go back to the ME before we check out those boats. Forensics in Miami found traces of Ketamine in their victim. No signs of sexual assault, but the drug could have been used to subdue her."

"With a Marine, an assassin, and an aspiring gangster, it would make sense to find a way to subdue them quickly." JJ agreed. "Garcia just came up with a follow up on Liddy. So far he seems clean enough; except that his retirement had more to do with a botched IA investigation. It's probably nothing, but my gut says something is amiss with him."

"It's never a bad idea to trust your gut." Rossi said, waving down a waiter.

As both of them placed their orders for the 'best steak and lobster in the east', JJ noticed Stan Liddy coming into the diner and finding a table, with an evening edition of the State Press newspaper. She subtly pointed him out to Dave. Dave took a casual glance to where Liddy was sitting.

"Now that I see him in action," he said, "I see what you mean. It could be an old habit as an ex-cop, but notice how he scanned the room, like he wants to make sure he knows who in here and where all the exits are. I also noticed he took a fraction of a moment to effectively size everyone else in the room up, like he anticipates there might be trouble." He shrugged appreciatively. "I gotta admit he was quick and subtle about it. If you didn't say something, I might have missed it."

Almost imperceptibly, JJ nodded. "Don't look now, but he's watching us. Maybe he's profiling the profilers for some reason."

"Or maybe he's just falling back into old habits." Rossi countered. "You can take a cop out of the force, but he's still a cop by nature."

 _Miami, Florida_

SSA Luke Alvez and Captain Angelo Batista just left the home of Norma Grant, mother of Norman Grant, finishing with the unpleasant task of announcing the death of her son. Norma was grief-stricken, but also claimed she was terribly surprised. She knew that despite being given a second chance, Norman was still running around with the wrong crowd. She knew this because she had hired Jacob Elway, a Private Investigator, to shadow her son. The PI actually did the work pro-bono; but Norma figured that was just his 'rich white-boy' way of trying to generate some good PR for his firm; helping out a poor old black lady was bound to look very PC these days. She took the free help, of course; she smiled and said all the nice things one is expected to say in a situation like that. Eventually, Elway reported that Norman had somehow given him the slip, and recommended she file a missing person's report; which she did, and she even went around looking on her own. The whole time, though, she just knew that her baby was going to turn up dead somewhere. Alvez felt terrible that her mother's intuition was right. After asking what amounted the standard kinds of questions; all carefully worded to not raise any alarms that a serial killer is on the loose, Norma came up with one name of 'a trouble making Richie-Rich slice of wonder bread' that Norman had a recent falling out with; he was older than Norman by about 5 years or so, and went by the name Mitchell Jones –or 'Mitch'. They thanked Norma for all her help and offered their condolences before solemnly moving on.

"Hold on a second," the Captain said, "I gotta make a quick call."

Alvez was fine with that; he had a call to make too. Twice now the name Elway came up; so Luke figured it was best to see what this PI was all about. He also wanted to see what he could on this Mitchell 'Mitch' Jones; although he was already willing to guess that was an alias. The quickest way he knew to find that out was Garcia. The two of them played at a rivalry between them, but he was sure they had a mutual respect for each other. He dialed Garcia.

"Welcome, Newbie, to the Cyberspace Oracle; headquarters of all things knowable and searchable!" She greeted.

"Hi, Garcia," Alvez said back. "I need you to look up two names for me. The first one is Jacob Elway. He's a Private Investigator her in Miami. The second is a possible lowlife named Mitchell or Mitch Jones."

"Oh honey," Garcia said with mock disappointment. "Here I thought you might finally have given me something challenging to do. I'll have your info back at you in a jiff." She hung up abruptly. Nearby, Alvez saw the Captain was done his call, too. It was time to go on to the Corazon residence.

In the Captains' car, Alvez asked, "So that's twice in one day that Elway guy has come up. By any chance are familiar with who he is?"

"Sure I am," Batista confirmed. "Jacob Elway was a cop in robbery with Miami Metro until he decided that he cared more about profit than justice." He explained. Alvez couldn't help but hear a great deal of dismay in his voice; and judging by the way his grip tightened on the wheel is was evident the Captain didn't think too highly of the PI. "Before you ask, no, he and I aren't exactly what you'd call friends. That's why I sent Joey to go talk to him; your unit chief is going with him."

Alvez decided it was best to drop the subject and see what Garcia found out. By the time they got to the Corazon residence, it was apparent the Marines got there first to notify Sophia Corazon of her husband's passing, and to advise that all arrangements will be taken care courtesy of the United States Marine Corps. For her part, Sophia, obviously very Catholic, was gracious but not very helpful. She didn't know of any enemies that her husband may have had.

"Hector is...I mean was a good man," she insisted. "It was that war that made him all loco. Everyone knew that; even Maria and Miguel found it in their hearts to forgive my Hector." Maria and Miguel were the neighbors' Wife and son. "He was doing so good! The doctor even said he was very pleased with Hector's progress."

When asked, Sophia indicated she did not know the name Jacob Elway. For his part, Alvez was impressed that she didn't blame the Marines; she blamed the war.

The moment Agent Prentiss finished her call to her guys in Maine, Sergeant Quinn's phone rang. Joey grimaced lightly, missing out on his chance to try to chat the attractive brunette up.

"This is Quinn." He answered. "Thrill me."

"Joey, this is Angel." Angel responded. "Are you and the Fed at Elway Investigations yet?"

"Not yet" Quinn replied. "Why? What's up?"

"We just finished talking to Norman Grant's mother." Angel said. "She says she hired the services of Jacob Elway to keep tabs on her son. Apparently he lost track of the kid, which was when she reported her son missing. She also mentioned that Norman had a falling out with someone named Mitch or Mitchell Jones. When you get there, I need you to ask Elway about Grant and this Mitch Jones guy."

"What are the chances that that's a real name and not an alias?" Quinn asked.

"Not good" Angel admitted. "Ask him anyway. Maybe Elway knows who this Jones guy is."

"Got it" Quinn said. "Check you later." He hung up. Agent Prentiss regarded him for a moment, obviously curious as to what his call was about. "That was the Captain." He explained. "We might have a lead thanks to the mother of the Grant kid. It turns out that Elway was tracking him for the mother. Now before you say it; I know I said I would try to keep my biases at bay, but I don't need a profiler to see a pattern developing."

Prentiss nodded in agreement. "Two out of four serial murders that the same PI played a hand in the investigation of the victim before their death."

"Yeah," Quinn said. "So, hey, I'm sorry about Masuka. He's good at his job and really has a good heart; he's just got a little bit of a hard time knowing what is appropriate to say and when."

"It's alright," Prentiss waved off. "Believe it or not, I've run into much worse."

Joey laughed lightly. "I can imagine." He said. "But then I bet you get hit on a lot; it probably gets tiresome after awhile."

Prentiss smiled a little. "It's kind of an occupational hazard that comes up from time to time." She admitted. "Although it's usually the good looking detective on a long term rebound trying to invite me to what he swears is the best restaurant in town."

Quinn bowed his head down, knowing he was busted. Right then he was almost convinced that this Profiler maybe had his number right from the start. She was good; he had to admit that much. Eyes back on the road, he turned right on the street that Elway Investigations was located.

Even as Quinn and Prentiss were on their way to speak to Jacob Elway, Spencer Reid was acutely aware that the intern the Captain introduced was frequently stopping to watch him through the window looking into the briefing room. As a result, Spencer had an idea what a fish in an aquarium. At least it seemed that Astor Morgan was pleased with her fish.

Having finished reading over the original BHB case files, Reid pushed the chair he was sitting in back so it rolled on its wheels towards the whiteboard and closed his eyes as he spun the seat counter-clockwise. He visualized the information he had just taken in, a good deal of it review; he began to sift through it, trying to pick out the most relevant factors towards what kind of person their copycat may be. He was already familiar with Frank Lundy's Profile on the original UNSUB; theoretically it was an accurate assessment based on the victimology and behavioral data that was available. The Bay Harbor Butcher should have been an extremely organized white male in his late thirties or early forties; his demographic and the fact that he left absolutely no trace suggested with near certainty that this UNSUB would have to be involved in some capacity with law enforcement; and in day to day life would present as calm and collected. He would go to lengths to not stand out, apart from being good at his job. He should have been carefully non confrontational and even likeable if a little distant. According to Lundy, the Butcher should have highly intelligent and quite meticulous. The notoriety and fame gained through the media should have been more irritating than pleasing; so much attention would interfered with his work, which is exactly what he should have perceived his kills as being.

That was why, despite the overwhelming evidence that pointed at James Doakes being the Bay Harbor Butcher, Lundy noted that apart from the age and the law enforcement involvement Doakes didn't fit. Doakes was consistently irritable, angry, and even confrontational. The fact that Doakes was black was more or less moot. Of course, there was the fact the case was reopened by then Captain Maria LaGuerta, who suspected Doakes was in fact framed by a blood-spatter analyst named Dexter Morgan (no relation to Derek), but her extended investigation only uncovered more evidence to confirm that Miami Metro got the right man. That was how they found his boat and some leftover gear: several hefty garbage bags and multiple rolls of heavy duty plastic sheeting. That went towards an explanation as to why no crime scene was uncovered. He most likely had a kill room which he prepared in advance and kept immaculately clean...

Reid stopped spinning and opened his eyes. "Or he made it, struck it, and cleaned up after. That kind of sophistication and preparation would be a lot of work. It would take a lot of patience and time. Lundy was right; Doakes doesn't fit."

Standing up, Spencer did his best to shake off the Doakes element as he strode up to the whiteboard. He began to write down what he learned and what was already known. One thing that kept coming to him was the question as to whether or not they caught the right man in the original case...well, not caught; Doakes died in an explosion, but if they identified the right man. It was unlikely these new murders were the work of the original Butcher; this new UNSUB seemed reluctant to do the actual killing, but was apparently using the original as a means of disposal and concealment.

"Someone young wouldn't likely be that disciplined, so this has to be someone older. The killing is not the priority. It's a means to something else entirely; but what?"

Reid considered a number of possibilities: Maybe he was trying to cash in on the original's fame. Maybe he believed the real Butcher was still out there and was trying to bring him out of retirement. Maybe it was another law enforcement official who thought by mimicking the original he could provoke him and thus make some miscarriage of justice right. Whatever the case, it was starting to look like they were looking for a goal oriented organized vigilante on some kind of mission. He was probably not a psychopath; the reluctance to the actual kill showed he didn't enjoy the act, but the original showed no hesitation; his efficiency was by no means a contradiction to the likelihood that he quite enjoyed what he was doing. Quite the opposite actually; it showed pride in his work.

He couldn't help it. Something about former Captain Maria LaGuerta reopening the case seemed far too important to ignore. He called Garcia.

"Thank you for calling the Garcia turnpike on the information superhighway. Penelope speaking, how can I help you?" She greeted.

"Garcia, I need you to look up two people for me." Reid said. "The first one is Maria LaGuerta; she was the previous Captain of the homicide division of the Miami Metro Police Department. The other is Dexter Morgan..."

"Did you say Morgan?" Garcia asked with a clear tone of barely contained panic in her voice. "Please tell me this is no relation to our cup of hot chocolate Derek."

"It isn't likely." Reid answered. "The Dexter Morgan I'm asking about was a blood spatter analyst with Miami Metro Homicide; the records here show he died in Hurricane Laura in 2013."

"So far you're ahead of me on the subject, boy wonder." She confessed. "But I guarantee I will catch up and then enlighten you in just a few." She hung up.

In front of Elway investigations, Quinn paused and asked Emily: "Would it help my case if I told you that I believed in this restaurant so much I invested ten grand into it?"

Emily Prentiss raised an eyebrow. She wasn't at all surprised that Quinn was persistent; he carried himself like a guy who was used to getting his way, especially with women. She was curious where he came up with that kind of money, though. When she asked, Quinn claimed it was from an inheritance after his uncle died. It was hard to say for sure if he was telling the truth; either he was, or he was a very good liar.

"I'll tell you what." Emily offered. "Tell me the name of the place and my team will go there to hash out what we have so far before we put together a profile. You and your Captain can sit in."

"That'll do" Quinn smiled warmly. He gestured towards the building. "Shall we?"

Emily and Joe entered Elway's building. On the East side of it, Emily noted a wide variety of vehicles; ranging from compact cars to sedans/sports cars to pickup trucks and vans to a selection of small trucks that could pass for business vehicles with a decent labels. Elway Investigations had a motor pool; which made sense. This way he could change up vehicles when tailing a mark; thus preventing being made. The establishment itself was actually quite impressive; very state of the art. Apparently the private sector of investigations was very lucrative. She also noted that Quinn seemed to be not terribly moved by the place; she got the idea that he'd been in here before. At the front desk, the receptionist was a pretty red head; she smiled welcomingly at Quinn and said that Jacob was expecting him. Quinn thanked her; her name was Rachael, and led Emily down a short hallway to an office door. He rapped lightly on the door and swung it open. Inside a man sat behind a desk. He looked like he was pushing 50, but was in very good shape, judging by how well groomed he was, Emily guessed that he probably dyed his hair. The look of his office told Emily that Jacob Elway was very organized, but liked to appear as laid back about it as possible.

"Hi, Joey" he greeted, standing up and shaking the detective's hand. Jacob then turned his attention Emily. His smile was warm and welcoming enough, but had a certain sleazy feel to it which was accented by a wink. "You got a new partner, I see." He said, still speaking to Quinn. "I'm Jacob Elway; it's a pleasure to meet you."

Emily returned a cool smile; part of her loved this part. This was the part when she flashed her FBI credentials and then the sleazy guy's grin crumbles. "I'm SSA Emily Prentiss of the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI." She said, flashing her badge. His response wasn't quite what she expected; yes, the grin crumbled, but it was replaced with what looked to her like alarm rather than embarrassment for just a moment. Then, for just a fraction of a second, she thought she saw excitement. "We were hoping you could help us by answering a few questions."

Elway quickly regained his composure, which was obviously well practiced. "I'd be happy to help." He said, taking a seat and inviting the pair to sit as well. "Do you mind me asking what this is about?"

"We need to know what you have on two of your clients." Quinn spoke first. "What can you tell us about Nadine Michaelsen and Norman Grant?"

Elway squinted. "Isn't Nadine Michaelsen Shaw's case?" he asked. "He was here maybe a week or so ago asking about her."

"It's my case now."

"I get it." Elway said. "You're pulling rank. I'm not sure what more I can tell you; she came in asking me to see if her husband was having an affair. I looked into it and found that he was, and when I presented my findings to her, she declined my recommendations to press charges; just like I told Shaw."

"So she was presented with clear evidence that her husband was cheating on her and she didn't want to do anything about it." Emily confirmed. "What happened after that? Did you simply take her money and let her go on your merry way? Didn't her reluctance to file against him seem odd to you?"

"Agent Prentiss," Elway replied calmly. "It might be hard to believe, but this kind of thing happens a lot more often than you think. There are a lot of factors to consider; maybe she didn't want to part with the Michaelsen estate, or maybe she wanted to stay together for the kids, or maybe when faced with the truth she decided to willfully deny what she was seeing. All I'm saying is that I've seen this kind of thing before."

"Except this time she poisoned her husband so she could become a grieving widow." Emily countered. "That was her way around a prenuptial agreement."

"I had no idea that was her intention." Elway insisted. "When she declined my recommendations and my support for her case, she was clearly upset, but I thought she was otherwise handling it well. Oh, and yes she did pay the full fee for my services; that may seem cold to you in the public sector but I do have a business to run here."

"Except now she's dead, too." Quinn said. Elway grunted with shock.

"What happened to her?" He asked.

"She was stabbed once in the chest and then dismembered, and finally dumped on the beach in a garbage bag." Emily answered. "This matches what was recently found on the coast of Maine."

"I'll be damned." Elway said quietly, leaning back on his chair. "So now I know why you're here. I only wish I had more to help you with, but I really don't know what else I can tell you."

"What about Norman Grant?" Quinn asked. "We know that you did a pro-bono case for his mother to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, I did." Elway confirmed. "Then I lost track of him. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Norman Grant is one of three victims that turned up in Maine." Prentiss answered.

"What we're really interested in is one of his possible acquaintances." Quinn interjected. "What can you tell us about Mitchell – or Mitch- Jones?"

Elway hesitated a moment; Emily couldn't quite read if he was trying to remember or if he was trying to come up with the right lie to tell.

"I remember now," he said finally. "Mitch was a white guy that Norman occasionally hung out with at the mall. He was part of a mob of kids that lingered in the food court. Mitch was older than most of them; in his twenties. He kind of came off as a sort of unofficial leader; probably because he always seemed to have money. I can't say for sure, but I think he might have had a job in the mall somewhere."

Emily was about to ask him what he meant by that he thought so, but then decided against it; Mitch wasn't whom he was hired to watch. He probably just saw an older guy that seemed to be the king of the Mall Rats and left him well enough alone. She thanked Jacob Elway for his time, and she and Quinn got up and left. It was time to regroup and conference with the team.


	6. Chapter 6

_Miami, Florida_

Now the FBI was in on the investigation. It was perfect; the media was one anonymous tip away from knowing that the infamous Bay Harbor Butcher was back n business. That would definitely get Hannah McKay's attention; wherever she is. That evil, murderous bitch would have to come back to investigate the possibility that her beloved Dexter might have faked his death and has returned to Miami. She might even bring Harrison, Dexter's son, back with her. It was just a matter of time before Harrison Morgan was rescued, and Hannah McKay finally went down for the murder of Sal Price, being an accessory to the deaths of Deputy Marshal Max Clayton and who knows how many others, and the kidnapping of Harrison Morgan; and that was just what Jacob Elway knew of for certain. She got away from him once, but soon enough he would get her; and then he would be a world famous hero. Not to mention, he would finally clean up the one flaw on his solve record.

Once he was certain that Quinn and the Fed were clear of the premises, Jacob grabbed himself an Activade from the small refrigerator in his office and headed for the motor pool. He had work to do; this was the unpleasant part of his mission, but absolutely necessary. He had his next target all picked out and prepared; everything was already in place. After he tracked Oxford to his hideout in the Everglades the set up was a lot easier; because the set up was easier, the clean up and the dumping was a lot easier too. The only part that was difficult was the actual kill. Jacob didn't think he would ever get used to that; he wasn't a psycho. Still, one did what one had to do. At the motor pool, Jacob selected the older model Jeep for this particular part of his mission.

His next target was Arthur Mitchell; a retired sporting goods shop from Kentucky who owned a small vacation cottage located near the Glades. He often spent as long as a month there on hunting expeditions. While he wasn't _the_ Arthur Mitchell that the Feds were looking for as the Trinity Killer, the name alone would without a doubt catch Hannah's attention; she had to know that Dexter had already killed Trinity. This would practically be a message to her; it would be like Dexter himself saying: 'I'm still alive and I'm back!' After that, all he would have to do is watch the airport for her return; most likely under the alias of Claire Thompson. His Mitchell from Canada was at his cottage now; Jacob knew this because he had the place staked out, and Mitchell arrived two days ago. The best part of this was that the cops and the Feds already had his patsy on their radar; even if they didn't know it. Mitchell Jones never had a falling out with the Grant kid; Elway made that up. What made Mitch the perfect patsy was his background. Mitchell Jones wasn't his given name; he was really Jonah Mitchell, the Trinity Killer's only surviving relative – his eldest son. When Deb had figured out who Trinity was, his family was put into protective custody and given new identities. They got relocated to Kearny, Nebraska, where supposedly dear old dad tracked them down and killed Rebecca and Sally Mitchell, only to be fought off by Jonah. According to the backup files he dug up from Evelyn Voegel, Jonah was one her patients before she got killed. He confessed that he in fact killed his mother Sally after Rebecca committed suicide. To cover his tracks, he made it look consistent with his father's methods. Her notes indicated a tremendous amount of rage; especially towards his abusive father. Done right, this next kill would look like a murder of Jonah's dad in effigy. It wouldn't take long for the Feds to figure out who exactly Mitch Jones really was; even if they don't find Voegel's files he will look good for at least one of the murders.

Papa's Cafe was located on the beach, and featured predominately as a patio cafe. As the team assembled there on Emily's recommendation, Spencer noted immediately that the establishment was clearly very friendly towards police. He supposed that would make sense; according to Emily Sergeant Quinn was an investor and he gathered on his way here that Captain Batista actually owned this place. Emily suggested the team meet here on Quinn's recommendation.

He found Alvez, Emily, and Quinn easily enough; Angel was over by the bar, talking to the manager. Lieutenant Miller was at a separate table with another detective that Spencer gathered from the station was a new transfer from San Francisco named Shaw. They were having a dinner following a successful arrest of someone named Charles Duggan. From Astor Morgan, that intern that was watching him, Spencer learned that Detective Shaw got Duggan to confess to the shooting of someone named Jason Cooper. Spencer started to make his way to the teams' table just as his phone rang. It was Garcia.

"Hold on, Garcia," he said in answer. "I'm just about to join Alvez and Prentiss. I'm going to put you on speaker." He got to the table. "Okay, you're here with me, Prentiss and Alvez. Also with us is Sergeant Joe Quinn of Miami Metro."

"Wow, I have a full house in Miami and a plus one! Sha-zam! Now prepare yourself to be amazed once again by my amazing skills of information gathering and distribution." Garcia said. "Since I have all of you in one place, I have a plethora to disclose; and since you already have a local I will abbreviate parts of it – particularly the boy wonder's inquiry about former blood-spatter analyst Dexter Morgan who thankfully is not related to our Derek Morgan. To the local I say that I know that sounds terrible but I'm sure you know the tragedy that is the life and times of your co-worker so hopefully you will understand. Suffice it to say, for now, that my heart goes out to him and all his loved ones that he left behind. As for Maria LaGuerta- or should I say Captain Maria LaGuerta –she was a well respected member of the Miami Metro Police Force specifically in the homicide division until her tragic death in the line of duty in 2012 where she was shot by one Hector Estrada whom she also managed to shoot dead shortly after his parole. The funny thing; and I don't mean funny as in laugh out loud but funny as in odd or unusual and really rather not funny at all is that Mr. Estrada was one of three in a trio of drug dealers who murdered Laura Moser, mother of Brain and Dexter Moser with a chainsaw right in front of both Moser boys who were 6 and 3 respectively."

"Wait a minute," Spencer interrupted. "Brian Moser; do you mean the ice-truck killer?"

"Indeed I do boy wonder." Garcia confirmed. "What's even more compelling is that Dexter Moser, his younger brother, was later adopted by Officer Harry Morgan..."

"...and Dex would grow up as Dexter Morgan, alongside his sister Detective Debra Morgan." Captain Batista said, having joined the table. "He would later get married to Rita Bennett about a year or so before she got murder by Arthur Mitchell, AKA the Trinity Killer, raise his son Harrison as a single father until Deb was shot and killed by Oliver Saxon, AKA the Brain Surgeon," he paused to remove his hat and began fussing with imaginary lint as he spoke, "which would prompt him ultimately to pilot his boat into hurricane Laura in 2013, ending his own life." He replaced his hat.

"Our new voice just summed up the life and death of our dearly departed blood spatter analyst." Garcia confirmed. "Anyway, Captain LaGuerta was so highly respected the city of Miami even set and named a park bench after her, which was dedicated to her by Deputy Chief Thomas Matthews and then Lieutenant and ex-husband Angelo Juan-Marcos Batista."

"That is one hell of a web of interactions." Alvez commented. "What are the odds?"

"Welcome to Miami." Quinn quipped.

"Actually the odds are not as unlikely as you might think." Spencer chimed in. "The theory of six degrees of separation suggests that it is possible to connect any given person to any other given person through family, friends, or acquaintances within no more than five intermediaries. This theory was first proposed by Hungarian writer Frigyes Karinthy in a short story entitled 'Chains' and put to the test in the 1950's by..."

"Thank you, Spencerpedia!" Alvez cut him off. "I get it."

"What else do you have for us, Garcia?" Emily said, trying to get the discussion back on topic."

"Well, the web gets even more tangled, now." Garcia said. "The Newbie asked me to look into one Jacob Elway. I'm sure our comrades with Miami Metro can tell you that he is a former member of their force in the robbery division, and that he later decided to try for greener pastures as a Private Investigator. He now runs the very lucrative Elway Investigations, which has a very high solve rate; so far I can only find one caser on their list that has remained for unsolved more than a month or so, that one being on the books since 2013, and that one being the location of one Hannah McKay."

Still a little stunned at Alvez's comment, Spencer did not start going on about Hannah McKay; even though he did know she was an accomplice to spree killer Wayne Randall when she was 15, and was at the very least suspected of poisoning a camp counsellor that she claimed molested her, as well as an ex-husband who dies of heart attack at age 40 (Aconite was found in his system). She was also arrested for the murder of true crime author Salvador Price, a charge from which she escaped custody immediately following her pre-trial hearing. She had been at large ever since. As an interesting note, it was reported that Dexter Morgan was the one who turned her in for Price's murder; in which the Aconite took effect while he was in Dexter's Condo. The six degrees of separation was definitely at play in Florida.

"Finally, Newbie, I take it back when I said you never come up with anything that poses a challenge for me." Garcia continued. "I looked everywhere, and I do mean everywhere that was even remotely legal for one Mitchell or Mitch Jones, and found nothing; and by nothing I mean nothing, as in, he doesn't exist anywhere on the planet; certainly not in the Sunshine State. Before you ask, I checked criminal databases and still came up with zip, and then I looked for any possibilities of an alias and found nada."

"What about witness protection, Garcia?" Alvez suggested. "Isn't there some kind of investigative work around to gain access to anyone in WITPRO that might be using that name?"

"Good thinking, my darling rookie, but once again I'm two steps ahead of you and I looked there, and all I can say is Eureka! After much digging on my part I found something. Mitchell Jones is indeed in Witness Protection, but not as a criminal. Rather he's there as a material witness and probable target for murder at the hands of his father. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...drum roll please... Jonah Mitchell, son of Arthur Mitchell, the Trinity Killer. When Arthur was revealed as Trinity, Jonah, Rebecca, and Sally Mitchell were put under protection, and they remained in what was thought of as safety in Kearny, Nebraska until Arthur found them, killed Rebecca and Sally and made his escape after Jonah walked in on him and managed to fight him off."

A pregnant silence followed. At length, Quinn broke it. "I wouldn't worry too much about Jonah Mitchell." He said. "He's your classic all American boy; excelled in sports, good grades, prominent member of the church. It's a damn shame his dad turned out to be a complete whack job, but he's a good kid. In fact, he even tried to help track down his old man by giving us a name of a possible accomplice turned adversary. Some guy named Kyle Butler had befriended Arthur and then turned against him when he saw how abusive Mitchell senior was towards his family. Jonah was reluctant to make trouble for Butler, but he did provide a composite sketch."

"I have a copy of that sketch, and I'm sending it to your devices now." Garcia added. "Up until now, Kyle Butler is still in the wind."

Prentiss, Alvez, and Reid all looked at their devices and studied the composite. It was of a thirty-something man with dark hair and a weak chin. Given that the sketch was made six or seven years ago, that would make the man in the sketch somewhere in his early forties now.

"This is all great," Alvez said, "but what does this have to do with our copycat?"

"All things considered," Emily responded, "What are we looking for?"

"Despite the use of Ketamine in at least one of the victims, it's doubtful these crimes are sexually motivated. There are no signs of sexual assault, and the hesitation marks in the stab wound indicate the actual act was not a source of gratification for our UNSUB." Reid answered. "In fact, I don't think our UNSUB is comfortable with the disposal method, either; that's purely out of necessity. The entire premise of making sure the actual crime scene is never found is what makes this case particularly difficult, and suggests he would rather have us believe these crimes never even happened."

"No crime scene means no crime happened, and no crime means no investigation." Quinn agreed. "It makes sense."

"Maybe for the original Butcher; Doakes weighed his bodies down and dumped them in the ocean in bags." Batista pointed out. "I'm willing to buy that Doakes would have rather his crimes never be found out, but this new guy is dumping them where we're going to find them. Why?"

"His reluctance could go to lack of experience." Alvez said. "He screwed up weighing down the first three and they turned up in another part of the country. Maybe he's a kid who thought the original Butcher had the right idea."

"But the last victim wasn't put in the ocean at all." Emily countered. "No, he wants us to find his work. The question we need to ask is why."

"I see a number of possibilities." Reid replied. "He could believe that Doakes was not the original, and is hoping to inspire the original to come back out. He could be trying to pass himself off as the original in the eyes of the media, or at least trying to cash in on the fame the original. It is entirely possible we could have someone; likely either involved with law enforcement or was at one time, that thought the original had the right idea. Or it is possible that this is some kind of means to work his way to a specific individual that the copycat feels the original should have gotten. In any case, the lack of forensic evidence tells us we are dealing with a highly organized, highly intelligent mission oriented vigilante. He is most likely a white male between the ages of 35 and 50. In his day to day life, he will appear as a calm law abiding citizen, likely with plenty of resources; and will come off as a generally likeable guy to both men and women, if a little distant."

"His apparent lack of emotional commitment will be a significant tell." Emily added. "That isn't to say it seem as if he doesn't care about anything, only that he will not seem to invest a lot of emotions into whatever stimuli he encounters."

"Other than that," Alvez continued, "He will for all intents and purposes be your classic all American boy."

"Bear in mind, this will ultimately be a cover." Emily said. "Beneath the surface of this facade will be a great deal of anger and determination to complete his mission."

"Many serial killers start off as basically normal people- albeit under some kind of pressure – until they are set off by some sort of stressor."

"I get it." Batista said quietly, nodding. "Living under an abusive, oppressive father with ridiculously high expectations has got to be a lot of pressure. Finding out that same man is actually a serial killer is one hell of a stressor."

"Add to that that he not only tracked the family down and killed two of them just as you walk into the house that was supposed to be safe." Quinn reluctantly agreed. "I'd call that one fuck of a stressor."

With a heavy sigh, Batista turned back towards the back of the cafe. "I'll call some unis to go to his address and bring Jonah in..."

That was when Quinn's phone rang...

Even as Dr Reid was leaving the Station, Jacob Elway closed in on Arthur at his cottage and dosed him with the Ketamine. As Arthur fell into the K-hole, Jacob made quick work of wrapping his torso and legs up in layer after layer of plastic; almost like a cocoon. Once wrapped, he carried Arthur fireman style and dropped him into the back of his jeep so he could transport him to his kill room. Jacob had to admit; Dexter Morgan had one hell of a system. Even when his means were discovered he himself never got caught. In fact, anyone who ever got close is now dead, aside from himself. Too bad Morgan committed suicide; it would have been great to finish him exactly as he finished so many others. As for this Arthur Mitchell replacement, Elway had something special in mind for him; he eyed the ball-peen hammer in the passenger seat and grinned maliciously. By the time he was done, the cops and the feds with all their fancy profiling would be sure that this kill was personal; and that would point them straight to Jonas Mitchell, currently known as Mitchell Jones. He even had the perfect dump site worked out.

By the time Elway finished up and left his kill room, Astor Morgan was finishing up in the lab. Vince let her go for the night, and she was looking forward to her end of the night 'J-break'. She got into the SUV that Dexter gave her before... before everything happened. She had the perfect place in mind; it was possibly her favorite spot in the whole state, other than Aunt Deb's old beach house. Because Aunt Deb got shot and died, the beach house wasn't an option anymore, so this place was good enough; it was on the beach, at least. When she was little, she always loved Miami Beach. She had lots of good memories of times spent with her mom, Cody, and baby Harrison, and Dexter, and Aunt Deb, even Uncle Joey was there a few times near the end. The beach in Miami was actually part of the reason she came back from Orlando. Orlando was nice, but it wasn't home; not really. Miami was home, and the beach was the best part. One of her favorite spots was the Capt. Maria LaGuerta bench. Angel said the bench was cheap ass and that Maria deserved better than that for her years of dedication and service, and Astor just had to his word for it. She never really met her, but she did remember both Dexter and Aunt Deb not liking her too much. Whatever; she figured. In one way Angel was right, the bench itself wasn't that fancy; but she thought he missed the important part. What mattered most was the location of the bench. If you sat on it and looked out onto the ocean, the view was fucking awesome; at sunrise it was like the sun literally came bubbling up from the ocean floor to soar through the sky. Since she had the next day off, she was seriously contemplating more than just one joint tonight so she could see the sun.

The traffic was remarkably light. She made better time than she thought she would. The other vehicle she really saw was an older model Jeep, red but nothing too flashy, going the opposite direction. Pulling to a stop near the bench, Astor grabbed her fanny pack from out of the glove compartment and made her way to the bench. She sort of wished she had some company; a J-break was always better when shared. Cody went all Straight Edge about a year ago, so that was out. Dr. Reid didn't strike her as a user, and not just because he was a member of the FBI. She could try to call Uncle Joey; he was usually up for it if he wasn't on duty, so there was no way she would rat her out. He even sometimes scored the weed for her if her sources were dry. She got the bench and pulled out her phone. She was just about to ring him when she saw a trash bag was left on the bench.

Astor didn't like the look of that; not at all. With the way the last body was found just today, this was a very bad thing. She dropped her fanny pack and put her phone away as she reluctantly approached the bag and poked at it tentatively. Then she realized what she was doing and jerked her hand back. If this was what she thought it was, she just put a fingerprint on the bag, and probably a sample of her DNA from her sweat and the oils in her hands.

"Stupid..." she cursed herself quietly. Then she fumbled in her jacket pockets until she found two pairs of latex gloves. Putting them on, one pair over the other, she carefully opened the bag and peered inside...

...and promptly stepped away from what she saw. It was what she thought it was; sort of. Inside the bag was a body cut into six pieces; the head on top with what was left of the face pointed upwards. In that quick glance, she saw that face was bashed completely in with what she would have guessed was some kind of hammer. Frantically she grabbed her fanny pack and ran back to her SUV. She unlocked it and tossed the pack into the glove compartment and then locked the SUV back up. Then she took her phone out and called the first, the only number she could think of to call. On the other end, Uncle Joey's phone rang...

"This is Quinn. Thrill me." Quinn answered his phone.

"Uncle Joey" Astor called on the other end. She sounded like she was under duress; even a little scared. To her credit, she also sounded like she was doing her damndest to hold it together.

"Hey, Astor," he said back. "What's up?"

"He was here, Uncle Joey." Astor said. "It's worse than ever; tell Dr. Reid he's escalating and devolving. You gotta get everyone over here now!"

"Hold on a second." Quinn said soothingly. "Slow down; take a breath." He waited for her take a couple. "Okay, now start over. What happened? Where are you? Who was there?"

"I finished at the station and came to the bench." She started. He knew right away what she meant; she liked to go to LaGuerta's bench to smoke up. "When I got here, I found a trash bag on the bench. I went to open it, and then remembered my gloves. I put them on and opened the bag. There's a body in it, Uncle Joey. It was the copycat; it has to be. The copycat was here, and he's getting a lot worse. You need to get everyone over here now; the body looks fresh, so he might still be around."

"Holy shit!" Quinn blurted. The table around him all jumped, startled. "Alright, Astor; I need you to sit tight, okay? We're on our way." He hung up and stood.

"What's going on?" Prentiss asked. "Who was that?"

"That was Astor." Quinn answered. "She's at LaGuerta's memorial bench. She found a body and she's pretty sure it's our copycat."

"Son of a bitch" Angel said, having returned from calling the unis. "How's she holding up?"

"She's pretty shaken up, but I think she'll be ok." Quinn looked at the skinny guy that looked to him like a pencil with ears. "You're Dr. Reid, right? She said this one's worse than the others. She said to tell you he's escalating and devolving."

"Two kills roughly 24 hours apart; I'd say so." Alvez commented.

"Let's get moving." Quinn insisted. "She said the body looks fresh, and thinks our guy might be in the area."

"I'm on it." Angel said as the team got up to get moving. None of the Feds needed to tell him what do here; the Captain knew procedure and would do it all by the book like he usually does. He was already on the phone; probably calling Masuka.

Jacob Elway returned to his base of operations at Elway Investigations after dropping Mitchell off. Traffic was light tonight; the only other vehicle he recalled seeing was light grey SUV going the opposite direction. The only reason he really remembered it was the driver seemed unlikely. It was a kid; a girl no older than 20. He wasn't sure if he should pleased that there was a lack of witnesses or concerned that maybe the light traffic might mean that kid also saw him. Ultimately, he supposed, it didn't really matter; he was back here to switch vehicles anyway. He wanted to go back and watch as the cops and the feds discovered the body. The way he figured, the media would eat this shit up anyway, but he had to make sure they got the right idea out there, and timing was everything.

Now he needed a vehicle that wouldn't draw any attention. A car near the beach wouldn't be suspicious under normal circumstances, but it would be so much safer if he selected something that wasn't flashy, but not too drab, either. Ultimately he selected the blue Camry.

Once he returned to the dump site, it was clear that the body was discovered already. The tape was up and the area was crawling with uniforms. Quinn and the Fed he showed up with earlier were there, along with Batista, a tough guy Fed and some other guy with the Feds that kind of looked like a pencil with ears. Of course Masuka was there, examining the scene and the body along with Batista and most of the Feds except for the pencil; he was with Quinn, talking to the kid Elway saw in the SUV.

"I'll be fucked sideways." Elway said to himself as he drove by. "The kid found the body." It was a lot sooner than he expected, but that was fine. It just meant that if he wanted make sure the media got the right version, he would have to act fast. They weren't here yet, so there was a chance he could set this up the way he needed it.

Sometimes life had weird synchronicities; two people get a call at the same time, or certain factors in any given case that may or may not be related happen to line up. It was rare, but sometimes it happened. This was one of those times. Just as Metro's lab tech was overseeing the victim's remains being transferred to his lab, both Emily and Batista received calls. Meanwhile, Alvez considered what he was looking at. The intern was right; this one was a lot worse than the others. This UNSUB was definitely escalating and devolving. His newest victim wasn't stabbed, he was bludgeoned. His face was smashed into a bloody pulp; the lab tech said his first guess was with a ball peen hammer. The team had already pretty much ruled out any sexual element to the original killings despite the stabbings; the hesitation marks suggested he wasn't comfortable with stabbing, so unless it was some kind of sexual anxiety it was unlikely that sex had any part of this. The smashing of the face was much more telling, Alvez estimated. That was personal; it displayed a great deal of rage. It also could be an effort to delay identifying the victim, which again revealed a personal element to his particular crime; if they identify the victim, they can find whoever had a personal beef with him, and that led to the UNSUB. The team had already predicted this UNSUB was probably on a mission of some sort. This victim could be his final target. Given his apparent lack of interest in killing in and of itself, he might even turn himself in now that his mission is complete. They should be so lucky.

Both Emily and Batista finished their calls and returned to the group at the same time.

"That was Shaw..." Batista said just as Emily announced she was talking to Rossi. The Captain relented, insisting on a ladies first policy.

"Rossi just had the lab in Maine do a toxicology review on the three up there." Emily said. "They found Ketamine in their systems, but the bodies had been in the water too long to find any DNA evidence. No physical signs of sexual assault were apparent."

"I doubt there will be on this new one, either." Alvez said. "This isn't a sex thing; this victim certainly has a much more personal element to it. I'd say this victim inspired a lot more rage for the UNSUB than any of the others."

"I agree." Emily said. She looked to the Captain. "What do you have, Captain?"

"Shaw and a couple of uniforms are at the Mitchell address." Batista replied. "There's a vehicle in the driveway, but nobody's home. No sign of any forced entry or struggle inside. Shaw figures Mitchell managed to give his watchers the slip and rabbitted on foot. They're setting up a search now."

Spencer and Quinn came up to them; the intern looked shaken up when they got there, but seemed like she was going to be okay now. According to Quinn, this was a spot that Astor Morgan liked to come and unwind. Spencer said that she did remember seeing an older red Jeep in the area just before she found the bag. She didn't get the plate number.

"Did you say a Jeep?" Batista asked. "A red Jeep; that's what she said she saw?"

Quinn confirmed that was correct.

"Shaw just said the vehicle parked at Mitchells' was a red Jeep." Angel Batista said. "The WITPRO guys confirm that is his vehicle."

"It sounds like we might have our UNSUB." Alvez said.

"We definitely need to track Jonah Mitchell down for questioning," Emily agreed. "You stay here and maintain the search for witnesses of the dump and the possibility he may be around to observe our investigation. I'll go to the house and do the same there. Reid, I need you to go back to the Station to see what Masuka finds."

"Shaw is at the house." Batista said. "I'll stay here." He turned to Quinn and asked how Astor was doing.

"She'll be alright," Quinn said. "She wants to get back to the lab and stay in this. I was thinking I should go too. I can direct traffic from there and make sure an interview room is ready in case we find Jonah."

"You go, too." Batista allowed. "You just make sure Astor is really ok."

So everyone went their way. Quinn offered the kid a ride, which she declined; she said she didn't want to leave her SUV behind, even if it was surrounded by cops. Once everyone cleared out, Alvez asked Batista if he knew where the address of Mitchell's house was.

"Sure I do," he replied. It's on the beach, right up that way about two or three miles." He pointed north.

"If Mitchell is our guy, he could have easily parked his Jeep after dumping the body and walked back along the beach to watch us." Alvez said, starting to jog northwards along the beach.


	7. Chapter 7

_Miami, Florida_

Trying to keep up with SSA Luke Alvez as they travelled up the beach proved to Angel just how out of shape he really was. When he was younger, he did some boxing, but that was quite a long time ago. He was managing, but just barely. They got about a mile and a half north of their starting point before the Fed stopped abruptly. Angel was about to ask what was up and then he saw it; about a hundred yards ahead, a tent was pitched on a grassy patch.

Alvez drew his weapon and slowly made his way to the tent. Angel followed suit.

"Excuse me," the Fed called. "This is the FBI. Can you come out of the tent, please? We're here with Miami Metro and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

The tent flap started to open. From inside, the man crawled out, showing his hands to make it clear he was unarmed. The Captain didn't need to be a Profiler to figure out that this guy had at least some level of understanding how this worked.

"I don't want any trouble." The man in the tent called out as he was coming out. Angel was sure he knew the voice, but couldn't place it. "I'm coming out quietly. You don't need to use any force." Finally the guy came out. The Fed put his weapon away and grabbed hold of the guy gently but firmly and helped him up. It only took one look at the guy for Angel to know exactly who it was. The camper was Jonah Mitchell; now more commonly known as Mitch Jones.

Emily had barely stepped out of her vehicle when Lieutenant Angie Miller and Detective Duncan Shaw were right in front of her. The way the detective had his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head lowered suggested he was probably going along with his superior, even if he didn't necessarily agree with her. The Lieutenant had her arms crossed defiantly across her chest, and the glare of utterly unveiled disapproval told Emily that Angie was not happy to see her at all. Emily reached for her badge.

"SSA Emily Prentiss," she introduced herself. "I'm with the FBI."

"I know who you are, Supervisory Special Agent." Miller replied, clearly unimpressed. "What I don't know is why you are here. Matthews said you guys came here to review the original Butcher case in order to get a grip on what's going on in Ogunquit. I'm fine with that. He did not say you were invited to horn in our investigations here in Miami; in my jurisdiction or to come on to my crime scenes and interview my suspects."

Emily decided against pointing out that since the bodies found in Maine were all originally from Florida it could be argued that this was now a Federal case. She also decided it was wiser not to argue the point that this wasn't exactly a crime scene; unless you count the fact that Jonah Mitchell had evaded his WITPRO supervisors, or that she wouldn't have a suspect if it wasn't for her and her team. The idea was to work with the local authorities; not to steamroll them or have them feel as if their jurisdiction was being infringed upon.

"I understand that, Ma'am," she replied. "We're not here to overtake your investigation; we're only here to help..."

"I don't recall asking for your help, Agent." Miller interrupted.

"...and since there is a clear correlation between both cases, we only want to ask Mitchell a few questions." Emily finished.

"He isn't here." Shaw said quietly. When Miller gave him a sharp look to keep quiet, he shrugged lightly. "We have uniforms combing the beach and the surrounding area. We've searched the house; it looks like he packed up in a hurry. Since his vehicle is still parked, he must either have a friend or he's on foot. My bet is he's on the beach."

Despite Miller's look of clear disdain, Emily studied first the detective, and then the house. Detective Duncan Shaw was African-American, pushing forty, and carried himself like a well-seasoned cop. His eyes told her that he knew very well what was happening here, but was currently caught between what he knew what was right and what his orders were. The house was small, but quite functional; cute, even. The yellow, single floor house had maybe two bedrooms- more likely one – besides the living room. It had an awesome patio with a view of the beach that was nothing short of spectacular. Emily Prentiss wondered momentarily what Derek would think of this property. That was when she saw that Alvez, along with two uniforms, was bringing a young man towards them. Bringing up the rear of this group was Captain Batista, a little out of breath, and balking ever so slightly at approaching the house. The young man was white, in his early twenties, and looked quite frightened at what he was seeing. At the moment, Emily couldn't be sure if his evident fear was borne out of confusion or guilt. The fact he wasn't struggling much suggested the former was more likely.

"Wait..." he said, looking around frantically. "What's going on? Why are there so many of you? Why's the FBI here?"

Angie Miller cut in front of Emily. "Mitchell Jones, or should I say Jonah Mitchell?" she asked. Before he could reply with more than a nod, "I'm Lieutenant Angie Miller of Miami Metro Homicide, this is detective Duncan Shaw. We'd like to ask you a few questions. If you will come with us to the station so we can have a little talk?"

"Homicide," Mitchell asked, "What are you talking about? I just wanted some time to myself, so I gave the Witness Protection guys the slip. I had no idea it would be this big of a deal!"

"Lieutenant" Batista called to her and waved her down to where he was. As she stepped away from Jonah with what was supposed to be a knowing glance and headed towards the Captain, Emily noticed that Batista had regained his breath and took a stance; leaning slightly forward with a not-quite-frown showing underneath his goatee, his fists clenched lightly at his sides. They were just out of earshot, but Emily had an idea what he was saying to her, and could discern that she wasn't too happy about it. Finally she came back and walked right by.

"Now you're invited." She said as she walked by. "He's your witness now."

"Hello, Jonah," she said to him, showing her badge. "My name is SSA Emily Prentiss of the BAU with the FBI. I see you've already met Agent Luke Alvez. I can tell you're a little confused. If you don't mind, we'd like to take you to the station so we can straighten this out. Would that be alright?"

Eventually Jonah nodded. It was already starting to look to her that this wasn't their UNSUB. He didn't seem nearly organized enough, and his age was wrong. Also, she didn't think their UNSUB would be so cooperative; unless his mission was complete. Of course, if his mission was complete, then he should have had an exit strategy in place well in advance. He should have been long gone; or at least a lot farther away than the beach of his house. She sent him off with Alvez and waited for the Captain to catch up. She couldn't help but notice his reluctance in approaching this house.

"I take it you made our invitation official." She said. "Thank you."

"No problem." He replied. "I'm just sorry that she gave you a hard time. See, Matthews is retiring in a couple months, and Miller is looking to jump ranks and fill his seat. She probably figures solving this case will make her a sure bet."

Emily understood. This was politics. She hated politics; having grown up with them because of her mother's role as ambassador. All the same, she knew they were a part of the job on every level. It was best for her to stay out of it; even if she thought Batista was a better fit for the job. She just nodded, indicating she understood.

"There are two things that make it kind of funny." He continued. 'First, it's no secret that Matthews is already looking at her to be the youngest Deputy Chief in Miami history; let alone the first female or African-American DC. All very good PR and all that shit, y'know? The second thing is that I don't want the job, anyway; I got my restaurant to run, and being Captain is more than enough. Take your pick on reasons, but either way this isn't a competition; if she wants it, she can have it."

"That's very noble of you." Emily said.

The Captain waved off the compliment. "Besides, I got a few moves in mind anyway. I'll back down if I get Quinn as Lieutenant and Shaw as Sergeant."

Emily could respect the horse trading. Her impressions so far was that Quinn was a pretty damn good choice; he certainly knew how to work a witness, and she got the impression he was more of an instinct and street smart cop, where Shaw was obviously very much a by the book kind of guy. She offered him a ride back to the cafe where Batista could get his own vehicle. The Captain accepted.

"So I guess you know that house." Emily said once they were on their way.

"Sure I do," Angel confirmed. "One of own, Debra Morgan, used to live there. She was one of our best."

"Say no more." Emily said, knowing full well whom he was talking about.

At the station, Quinn once again found himself mildly amazed at two things; first, at how quickly Astor was able to get her shit together and get cracking at work. She may only be an intern now, but at his rate she was going to be every bit as good at the lab geek thing as her stepfather; maybe even better. That said a lot. The second thing was how well behaved Vince was around her; it was like he was working with his own daughter and only really showed his good qualities. Then again, Quinn supposed, just about everybody in the department was a little bit paternal with Astor Morgan, and would probably be much the same with Cody when he got here.

"It's actually a little intoxicating, isn't it?" the Federal beanpole said beside him. Reid, his name was. Angel said something about how Astor was quite obviously crushing on him a little. To that Quinn had no real objection. The way he figured, if this walking toothpick tried anything, Astor could probably whip his skinny ass all by herself.

"What is?"

"How efficiently they work together." Reid explained. "It's almost as if they've developed a sort of hive mind; like they both already know what the other is going need from them. Notice the lack of verbal communication? There are a few body language tells, but even those go by with an efficiency that I've never really seen before."

Quinn nodded appreciatively. He saw a chance here to possibly get Astor looking at someone other than him. This skinny Fed was as good an option as any. "Yeah," he agreed. "There's our girl genius in the making. You know, she's kind of like the stepdaughter of the whole department." That last part was meant to serve as a kind of Caveat. Reid didn't seem to notice.

Alvez came in with a couple of uniforms and a kid about the same age as Astor. It took a second for Quinn to recognize Jonah Mitchell; he really only spoke to him once, and that was a few years ago. Shortly after Deb fingered Mitchell's old man as the Trinity Killer and the wife and kids were put in WITPRO, they all gave sketches of some guy named Kyle Butler. To Quinn, they all looked a little bit like Dexter at the time, so he went ahead and showed Mitchell a picture and asked if that was Kyle Butler. For a second, it looked to Quinn as if he thought it was, but then he was pulled away from the kid. That was why he hired Liddy to watch Dexter; to see if he gave anything away that could tie him to the murder of Rita Morgan, his wife and Astor's Mother. It was a dumbass thing to do; he saw that now. There was no way Dexter killed Rita. It had to be Arthur Mitchell; or perhaps this Butler guy. When he got the kid in the room, Quinn intended to ask Jonah if he's seen or heard from Butler since. First, though, he wanted to let the kid sweat a little. Quinn didn't think for a second that Jonah was their copycat, but letting him stew in the idea that he's even a suspect would probably make him more talkative.

"That kid your buddy is bringing in," he leaned over and said to Reid. "Does he fit that profile of your UNSUB to you?"

"He's clearly frightened and uneasy." Reid replied. "While that could very well be a sign of guilt, the UNSUB we're most likely looking for would either be well and away if his mission was complete, or he'd be calm and comfortable. He'd either believe he was too smart to have left anything evidence for us to be able to charge him, or he'd be satisfied that he'd accomplished what he wanted to accomplish, and therefore be completely at ease with whatever happened next."

Quinn was silent a moment; taking in the small monologue just laid out on him. "So that's a no; right?" he finally asked.

Reid looked at him, realizing he'd done it again. "That's right," he said.

Angel and Prentiss cam in shortly after Alvez brought in Mitchell. Quinn waved them over. "So me and Reid here were just talking." He said. Neither of us thinks this Mitchell kid quite fits that profile of yours. But I think he might know something useful and not be aware of it. So I was thinking."

"Uh-oh..." Angel quipped.

"Yeah, that's real funny Captain." Quinn shot back. "Fuck you. Anyway, I'm pretty good with interviews and I know how to get people to talk. I'm thinking we let this kid sweat a few hours; say, until early morning. We let him get the idea that he's a suspect for the copycat murders to rattle his cage. He'll deny it, of course. But then we ask him what he knows about dear old dad's buddy Kyle Butler. I figure once he's had enough time with his feet to the fire, Jonah there will throw Butler right under the bus if he knows who and where he is."

"Where is he right now?" Emily asked.

"He's in holding one." Alvez replied, having just returned from the dungeons.

Emily requested taking a look at him. Quinn and Batista led her, Reid, and Alvez to where Jonah was being held.

"I think Quinn's approach might work." She said. "What do you guys think?"

"I think it's worth a shot," Reid offered. "If nothing else it will give him time to gain perspective on his options, and give the lab a chance to identify the body. Also, it's likely that once he realizes he's not a suspect his guard will drop and he will be much more forthcoming."

"Alright, then," Prentiss said. "We'll talk to Jonah in the morning. Until then, let's all get some rest."

 _Ogunquit, Maine. The next day_

 _Well, last night's adventure was almost pointless._ Dexter thought. _At least my meal at Val's was superb; I suppose I should count that as a blessing, but I gleaned absolutely nothing on Jareau or Rossi, or if they are even here looking into ME._

Dexter had decided it was best to try a different, albeit more direct approach; since he was known here to be a retired cop, most of the locals – even law enforcement – weren't likely to bat an eye if an ex cop lingers around the station once in awhile between shifts or during his break. Odds were good that it wouldn't even strike anyone odd if asked questions about big cases; especially if it was one said ex-cop called in. They'd probably just chalk it up to an old cop missing the work or getting some sort of itch for it. Dexter knew from experience at Miami Metro that that sort of thing happens. He was even willing to bet the FBI get that every so often; David Rossi retired, sold millions of books, did tours and guest lectures, and still came back.

One of the great things about his new job was how laid back it was. He was basically unsupervised, and was allowed to take breaks pretty much at will; as long as the beach was clean and the shit that needed doing got done. This kind of freedom was a huge boon to him. _Imagine what I could have gotten done with_ that _kind of lenience in the workplace._ A Familiar Stranger welled up from deep inside him, a place that Dexter had very nearly forgotten about. It began to grumble and sort of whisper those not quite words of older times to him; could it be that the Dark Passenger was back? Or did it ever really leave? Was it with him all along, but sleeping a torpid slumber; waiting for the right thing to take place to rouse it?

Shaking his head, Dexter stepped into the Sheriff's building with a box of doughnuts and a copy of one of David Rossi's books under his arm. He still marvelled at how low tech this building was and wondered how anything ever got done in here. Then again, with a town as small as Ogunquit, how much really ever needed doing? During the off season, it was probably a busy night if more than two bar fights broke out or if there was more than one domestic dispute call. Of course, the downside to that was that if he was the old Dangerous Dark Dexter Morgan, all eyes would have been on him immediately once the first product of his work got even remotely close to being noticed; since he was from Out Of State and all that.

Stepping inside the station, Dexter quickly found his way to the front desk where some deputy or another was sitting. Then Dexter recognized her; Robinson was her name. He either forgot or was never told her first name. It didn't really matter. She looked up at him when he reached the desk and smiled warmly.

"Hi, there, Stan" she said. _Of course she knew who I am; or at least who she thinks I am. In a small town like this, especially in Maine, everybody always knows about the man from 'Out of State', or as it is in larger places like Bangor or Portland from 'Away'._

"Good morning, Deputy Robinson," he replied, doing his best to sound appropriately cordial. He flipped open the box. "Want a doughnut?" He offered.

Robinson took one and thanked him.

"Hey, I was wondering," he asked. "By any chance would the Sherriff be in?"

"Well, hi there, Stan" Sherriff Burton called to him, his head poking from out of his office door. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Dexter skirted around the desk, pausing only briefly to place the doughnuts on it before walking towards the office. "Good morning, Sherriff," he greeted. "I was just wondering if I could have a word with you. About those bodies I found, I mean."

"Well, I suppose..." Burton answered. "If you think you know something about that, maybe you should be talking to those agents instead of me."

"Yeah, I hope to do that, too." Dexter agreed. "I was just hoping to get a regular cops' perspective. It's probably a bad idea; I know that it's technically a Federal case and all that. It's just...you know... I guess the old cop in me just can't resist when something like this comes up."

Burton nodded with understanding. "I totally get it." He said. "What can I tell you?"

"When the female agent talked to me it sounded like a lot of this case actually is taking place back home. In Miami, I mean. I guess that would mean they have most of their team down there, right?"

"I suppose that would make sense enough. But I couldn't tell you who that would be or what they'd got going on. I do know that the Feds here are looking at those boats you saw. That and they're talking all kinds of odd things about how they think their UN-SUB act and thinks."

"Yeah, I heard of that stuff back when that Lundy guy was doing the original Butcher case." Dexter said. "I think they call it profiling or something. Did you get any idea what they said about this new guy?"

"They think he's on some kind of mission." Burton replied. "So far as I can tell, fuck if they know what yet. They say he's not a psycho, but I can't imagine where they get that from. Nobody sane could chop someone up like that."

 _Maybe if the body was already dead; then it wouldn't be too far removed from an autopsy._ Dexter heard the Dark Passenger inside him whisper. Actually is more like he felt it than heard it; and it wasn't exactly in words.

"They also said the guy is organized, but inexperienced. He covered all his tracks, but the kill wounds had hesitation marks; like he was reluctant to go through with it." Burton continued. "The question I'm asking myself now is why is this guy copying the Butcher?"

 _That's a good question._ The Dark Passenger inquired.

 _What are you doing, Dexter?_ Harry asked. _You called in the bodies. There's no need to step into this any deeper. Walk away from this, Son._

"That's a good question." Dexter agreed. "It's one I'm sure the Feds are asking, too. If they can figure that out they might understand this guy's mission. If they understand his mission, they can get ahead of him."

"You mean like set a trap for him; something like that?" Burton asked.

Dexter nodded in confirmation. He glanced at his wristwatch, and made his face into an expression of mild alarm. "Wow, look at the time!" He exclaimed. "I should probably get back onto the shore; second day on the job." He turned to leave, and then paused to hand Burton the book. "Hey, I was also wondering if you could do me a favor; if that Rossi guy comes back around..." Dexter trailed off with a sheepish grin.

Burton pointed out the door. Dexter followed his finger, which ultimately pointed to the main entrance, where 'JJ' and the Celebrated Profiler David Rossi were coming in. Just as they were, JJ produced a phone and made a call.

"If you're looking for an autograph, Stan, I think you might have just enough time to get it personally." The Sherriff said.

"I guess so!" Dexter said jovially. With that he took the book back and exited the office towards Rossi.

 _Miami, Florida_

"The truck outside is better, you know."

Startled, Spencer stood up sharply from crouching over the coffee station. Even with his customary three teaspoons of sugar the coffee at Miami Metro was remarkably awful. Behind him was that young intern; Astor Morgan. Last night Detective Quinn spoke quite highly of her, and made an odd comment that almost sounded like a threat. At the time, Spencer was a little perplexed as to what the threat on; he was often oblivious to nuance in conversation and usually relied on picking up on physical body language cues. Now, as the young, attractive brunette stood in front of him, he was starting to understand. He had heard her call the Detective Uncle Joey, and Quinn was right about one thing; most of the department, especially in homicide, clearly regarded young Astor as kind of an adoptive child. He supposed it was sort of similar to how certain members of the BAU used to regard him when he first started.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, indicating that perhaps he didn't quite catch what she said.

"She offered a faint smile. "The coffee in here is sh... It's awful." Astor explained. "There's a food truck outside, just by the alley; their coffee is much better." She held up a cup and took a thoughtful sip. "Trust me. You'll thank me later."

Spencer set the cup he prepared down. "I'll take you up on your advice. Thank you." He made his way past her and towards the stairs to get to the food truck, where he purchased himself a coffee and added his three teaspoons of sugar. One sip and he could tell immediately that she was right. This was much better. In fact, the food truck had what could honestly be defined as good coffee. Turning back towards the main entrance, he nearly bumped into detective Joe Quinn.

"Excuse me," he said, sounding lame to his own ears. "I didn't see you there."

"Don't worry about it, Doc." The detective replied, trying to sound even cooler than he was. He eyed the coffee cup. "So you finally got tired of the swill we serve upstairs, huh? I can't say I blame you."

"Yeah; that intern Astor recommended I try the coffee from the truck, so..."

"That's a good call." Quinn said quickly. His eyes flicked at the second floor. "So did the lab geeks get an ID on the body she found yet?"

Spencer was about to object to the term 'geek' , but then it occurred to him that based on the overall laidback behavior he'd observed so far, such a term was probably not deemed offensive here. The truth was, either they hadn't or they were waiting for the morning briefing to reveal it. He did see a technician hand something to Vincent Masuka their senior tech; he looked at it briefly and quickly closed the file, glancing around. After it certainly appeared he was keeping it away from Astor. Dr, Reid wasn't usually quick to pick up on the social nuances of relationships, but even he was able to discern his was worried the content of that file would upset her. He also believed that it was only a matter of time before she saw it anyway.

"I think so." Spencer replied. "But your senior technician hasn't said anything yet. I think he's waiting for your briefing; which strikes me as odd because he doesn't really strike me as one to follow protocols so diligently."

The detective scoffed. "Unless we're talking about chain of custody, that's like a religion to him." He said. "But you're right; he probably thinks he has some kind of bombshell to drop on us, and is building up dramatic suspense. The protocol angle just happens to work in his favor on this one."

Spencer nodded, genuinely understanding that. Garcia was known to do the exact same thing from time to time. In fact just last night after he got back to his hotel suite she contacted him and revealed some of those more sensitive details about Dexter Morgan that she left out of her initial report. For one thing, Detective Quinn at one point suspected Dexter of killing his own wife, Rita Morgan after discovering a minor indiscretion she had with a neighbor. It was just a kiss; and apparently it wasn't even exactly reciprocal, but apparently Quinn was convinced that was enough to set the former Blood Spatter Analyst off. He even went so far as to talk his ex-partner in Narcotics Stan Liddy to put Dexter under surveillance. It turned up nothing so he shut down that branch of his investigation which had very nearly ruined a relationship he was in with Debra Morgan, Dexter's sister. Not only that, but years later, former Captain Maria LaGuerta –whom that bench was named after – at one point re-opened the original Bay Harbor Butcher case, and her suspect was also Dexter Morgan. This re-opening was evidently caused by some evidence found in another case altogether that seemed to match up with evidence that pointed originally to James Doakes, the original suspect. Her renewed investigation only led to more evidence Doakes, but she persisted, and only barely escaped an indictment of trying to actually frame Dexter. Of course, she got shot and killed by Hector Estrada before she could go any farther on the case. It was all very interesting; that made three different occasions at least that Dexter Morgan was suspected of murder: Doakes, who was at one time Sergeant Detective, suspected him of being connected to Brian Moser, the Ice Truck Killer; Quinn suspected him of killing Rita Morgan, and Maria LaGuerta suspected him of framing Doakes to evade conviction as they original Bay Harbor Butcher. If he wasn't dead already, Spencer would have liked to meet this Dexter Morgan; to see if his behavior fit into any of those profiles. Even so, the fact the copycat chose BHB might be important in itself. He might have been aware of and agreed with LaGuerta and be doing all of this just so the original case will be examined and the truth would come out. Since he seems adverse to the actual act of killing, he might just stop altogether if Doakes were to get cleared.

"...are in there, or what?"

Spencer blinked and realized that Quinn was waving his hand slowly in front of his eyes. He had gotten lost in his head again.

"Geez, you eggheads are all alike!" Quinn quipped. "Come on, Brainiac, the briefing is in five minutes." With that the detective strode towards the entrance with a kind of swagger that told Reid he liked to put up a lot more confidence in himself than he actually had. Spencer followed him up to the conference room.

"Alright; let's start on a clearly positive note." Miller said. "Congratulations are in order for Detective Duncan Shaw for closing the Jason Cooper shooting. He got a full confession from Charles Duggan."

A polite round of applause went around the room for the Supercop transfer from San Francisco. Quinn had to admit that the guy was good; even if he was kind of a dick and something of an ass-kisser.

"Now," Miller cut the applause off. She looked at Masuka, who was standing alone as the lab geek; he tried to put Astor on some kind of busy work, apparently, but she was lingering just outside the door, which was left open. "What do we have on our latest copycat victim?"

Masuka took a moment to scan the crowd before opening the file he brought in with him. At length he read from it. "The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the face and head; the weapon used, as I originally guessed, was indeed a ball peen hammer. Our guy is getting bolder; there were no hesitation marks on this vic. The body was then dismembered in the same fashion as the previous victims, probably with a machete or possibly an axe. This copycat is more like a butcher than the original."

"The lack of hesitation on this one says two things." Alvez said. "First, he's getting more comfortable with the act of killing, and second, he's more comfortable with a hammer than a knife."

"Not to mention that an attack on the face is a very personal thing. Whoever our UNSUB is likely had a personal grudge of some kind against this victim." Dr Reid finished.

Often during the course of a case, a sort of light bulb would turn on in Quinn's thoughts. Whenever that happened, certain connections started to come in a lot clearer. Most of the time, he found it was best to follow his instincts on these kinds of things, and he would connect the dots as quickly as he could.

"You guys said this guy was on a mission of some kind." He said. "If this was personal, then could this could be the whole point he was working towards? Is this maybe some sort of endgame for him?"

Emily glanced over at him; Quinn thought he saw a hint of admiration for his instinct. "That's possible, she confirmed."

Quinn smiled appreciatively and started connecting the dots the instinct light bulb revealed.

Then Spencer's phone rang. He excused himself and left the room to answer the phone, skirting around Astor, apparently oblivious to her presence.

"Do we have a name, Vincent?" the Lieutenant asked, clearly losing a little patience.

Masuka noticed Astor lingering outside and swallowed; hard. "Ummm..." he stammered. "Yes we do." He fumbled with the papers in the file, nearly dropping them. "The victim's name is..." He glanced again at Astor, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth. "His name is Arthur Mitchell."

The silence that filled the conference room made Astor's whimper seem all that much louder before she turned and ran- actually ran full speed – towards the emergency exit. By reflex, Quinn took a step to go after her, but Miller insisted that he stay and that she would be fine. As little as he liked it, Quinn knew she was right. He also had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

"For those of you in the room that are not aware, we brought in a person of interest on this matter." Miller pressed on. "Captain Batista, you're lead on this case; would you care to fill us in?"

"Can I finish?" Vincent jumped in. Miller shot him a glance, but then relented and gave him the floor. Vince cleared his throat. "I said his name is Arthur Mitchell, but it's not the Trinity Killer. The minute I saw the name I ran a comparative analysis and they didn't match. This Arthur Mitchell was a defense attorney from Louisville Kentucky, here on a hunting vacation in his retirement cottage just off the Everglades."

"Thank you for clarifying that for us Vincent." Miller said. "Captain Batista, you were about to tell us about whom we have in holding."

Angel stepped forward. "Last night we caught up with brought in Mitchell Jones, aka Jonah Mitchell, son of Arthur Mitchell, aka Trinity. So far he's been relatively cooperative, and even though we don't think he's a likely suspect, we do think he might know something about our main focus at this point. He might not even be aware of what he knows, so we're planning on giving him a chance to think about it before we question him."

"You gotta be kidding me." Shaw blurted. "Don't you see the similarity in the names? The kid was abused by his dad all his life, finds out dear old dad is possibly the worst serial killer in history, and then comes home one day find both his sister and his mother dead by daddy's hand. How can he not be a suspect? He meets a guy with his dad's name, loses his shit and goes nuts on him with a hammer; just like his dad used to do to the men his cycle of kills. Maybe he knew where this last guy was all along, and used the other kills to cover his tracks."

"I don't think so."Quinn jumped in. "He's been being monitored by Witness Protection. Giving them the slip for a camping trip is one thing, but getting away to do an elaborate string of serial murders? That isn't gonna happen. Besides, we still got this Kyle Butler guy to look for. We believe he was an accomplice turned adversary, and he might be tracking the real Trinity down."

"But why use the Butcher M.O.?" Miller challenged.

"I'm thinking it's symbolic," Quinn offered. Doakes made quite the impact on the city back then; it could be that Butler is just sending out a message to the felons of Miami. You know: 'you best watch out if you're gonna kill people, 'cause in Miami we let the punishment fit the crime." He let that sit for a second. All three Feds looked like they thought it was plausible. "If it was this Butler guy, then this still could be his endgame. I figure he might vanish into the wind, or maybe even let himself get caught and try to hold off the death penalty in court. Either way, there's a chance Jonah might know where he is."

Before Shaw could make any other objections, Miller came forward again. "Either way, you have someone to interview, Detective Quinn." She said. "I suggest you get on that quickly."

"Right," Quinn confirmed. "But I'm gonna check on Astor for minute first." He didn't ask; he told the Lieutenant and let his eyes do the talking after that. Miller nodded her consent, but her eyes told him to make it quick. Quinn then left the room to track down Astor. He had a pretty good idea where she was going. He headed towards the emergency exit, and then towards the docks. Sure enough, Astor was there; the walking pencil was with her, and they appeared to be talking it out. Quietly he made his way to be within earshot without disturbing them.

"...but I'm sure he knew you didn't mean it." Quinn caught him in mid sentence, but he already had an idea where there conversation was going. She must have just confided in him how she felt like Dexter's 'suicide' was her fault because of the things she said after Rita's death.

"Oh, I get it now," Astor said. "The reason he showed no emotions after mom got killed was he was trying to be strong for Harrison and Cody and I. I also think maybe he was just so angry that it scared him, and he didn't want us to see that. He may have even wanted to kill that son of a bitch." She hiked her thumb at the second floor.

So far it sounded like she hadn't given away the fact that Dex was still alive, or her role she played in creating his new identity. That was good.

"Let me tell you this," Reid told her. "After you left Masuka clarified that despite the similarities in the names, the victim you found was not the same Arthur Mitchell that killed your mother."

Astor was quiet for a moment. "That's too bad." She said, and lit a cigarette. "I mean, if you think about it, the State of Florida has the death penalty, so what difference does it make? Dead is dead. What difference does it make if it happens in an electric chair or if he gets chopped up?"

"Excuse me, Dr. Reid?" Quinn called out. "I understand you wanted to watch my interview with Mitchell? I'm going up to do it now."

That was enough to get the pencil to leave Astor. He had no doubt that Reid was sharp enough to catch the implications of what Astor just said and what it might indicate about her psyche; if a dumbass like him could see it then an egghead like Reid couldn't possibly miss it. It was kind of his job, after all. He left Astor on the dock to finish her smoke and headed up to do his interview. He just hoped his distraction was enough to keep Dr. Reid busy enough to give him time to check something with Dexter before the Feds started in on her.


	8. Chapter 8

Emily turned her head as the viewing room door glided open and Sergeant Quinn, followed by Reid, entered. On the other side of the glass that looked into the interview room, Jonah Mitchell sat at the table; facing the window which was a mirror on his side.

"Did he sleep at all over the last few hours?" Reid asked. They all knew the point to the question; only a guilty person would sleep at a time like this. Once caught, the exhaustive effort of avoiding capture or detection is done. In a strange way, being caught is sort of a relief. On the other hand, and innocent would be far too confused and stressed out to sleep.

"Not a wink," Captain Batista answered. "He paced his cell a lot, emptied hi bladder roughly once every ten minutes, and wrapped the blanket around himself when we cranked the A/C, but no sleep. He didn't even lie down for any significant length of time."

"That's good," Quinn said.

Emily understood what Quinn was getting at; that meant that Mitchell was wearing himself out. That meant he would have a much more difficult time creating and maintaining any fabrications. It would also make Reid's job of picking up tells in his body language a lot easier. Then the Sergeant glanced first at Batista, and then at Alvez. Finally he invited Alvez to come in with him. It was obvious to Emily what he was going for here; a variation of good cop- bad cop. Since Luke Alvez was the Fed that actually caught up to the suspect, his presence alone would be an intimidation factor. If Quinn played this right, he might convince Mitchell that he's the way out of a federal case; all Luke would have to do is stand there and look angry and tough.

"Sure," Alvez agreed. The pair exited the viewing room and entered the interview room; first Alvez and the Quinn. Reid didn't need to mention the apparent alarm Mitchell displayed when he saw the Fed and the relief once he saw that Quinn was going to be doing the talking. Alvez stood back in one of the corners, careful that his back was never to the door, crossing his arms over his chest and looking agitated. For his part Quinn played cool; he strode casually to the table, pulled his chair out and spun it so he could rest his forearms across the back, creating an air of casual authority. He had with him a file filled with papers, mostly blank, but with some documentation and photographs that were relevant to their line of questioning. He placed the file onto the table, and flipped casually through some of the papers before closing up the file again.

"I take it you've met Special Agent Luke Alvez of the FBI." Quinn started. "I'm Sergeant Joseph Quinn of Miami Metro. I know we've met before regarding your father. How're you doing Jonah? Can I get you something; maybe a coffee or a glass of water?"

Jonah waved a hand to decline a drink. "I'm confused, to be honest." He replied. "I'd like to know why I'm here."

"Why do you think you're here?"

"I have no idea! That's why I'm asking!" Jonah insisted, sounding a little more upset than he probably meant. "Yeah, I ditched those WITPRO idiots, but I don't see why the FBI needs to be involved."

"Did you see the way his eyes flickered over to Alvez for a moment there?" Reid commented. Our involvement is a genuine threat to him for some reason; I think he's hiding something. Emily clicked a button on the console in front of her and relayed Reid's comment into Quinn's earwig.

"So you ditched WITPRO so you could go camping on the beach." Quinn said for confirmation. Jonah nodded to indicate that was correct. "This was a mile and a half from the safe house, right?" Quinn asked.

"I didn't need to go too far," Jonah answered. "I just needed a little bit of space for myself. Also, I didn't want to wander too far in case my dad somehow found me again."

That was possible, but Reid noted his eyes went up and back towards the imagination centres of his brain for a fraction of a second; just before he mentioned his father. Reid noted then that the Jonah most likely felt no worry about Arthur Mitchell coming around. Again Emily relayed this into Quinn's ear.

"Let me ask you something, Jonah. Do you know what's about a mile and a half in the other direction from where you camped out?" Jonah indicated he did not. "That's where the Maria LaGuerta Memorial bench is located."

Jonah shrugged.

"Thing is; last night, while you were camping a mile and a half away, a trash bag was found on that bench, and in that bench were the body parts of a bludgeoned and dismembered man." Quinn pulled a photo of the trash bag out of the file and placed it in front of Jonah. Spencer commented that Jonah's surprise at this news was genuine.

"Well, what does that have to do with me?" He asked.

"See, here's where things start getting interesting, Jonah." Quinn replied. "Our lab geeks were able to get an ID on the victim. I gotta admit I was impressed with that; since whoever did this really did a number on this guy. His face was smashed beyond recognition; not even a single tooth was left intact." He cocked a thumb at Alvez. "These Feds have experts on this kind of thing, and they say that kind of attack is shows a lot of rage; that this had to be a very personal matter to the killer. They also seem to think that since the victim was from outside of Florida that makes this their case. What makes them even surer of that is the victim's name. His name was Arthur Mitchell, Jonah. I know that name means a lot to you."

Jonah scrabbled to his feet. "What are you saying?" He asked frantically. "Are you saying that my dad is dead? Was he murdered? Is that it?"

Alvez stepped forward slowly, uncrossing his arms. "You want to sit back down, kid," he growled in warning. Quinn shot up out of his seat and turned to face Alvez.

"Stand down, Agent." He said, adding just enough tension to his voice to come off like he had some degree of authority. "I told you when we came in that I have this." Playing along with the ruse, Alvez 'reluctantly' stepped back to his original spot, crossing his arms again. Quinn turned back to Jonah. "Please, sit down."

Jonah cradled the back of his head, interlocking his fingers in a mixture of relief and dismay. Groaning quietly, he sat back down.

"I can't say for sure, but I think Jonah might have been acting there." Reid said. "It's entirely possible that he knows very well that our Arthur Mitchell isn't his dad. Also, we can't yet rule out the possibility that the reason the Bureau hasn't been able to find Trinity is because he's already dead."

Once Jonah had composed himself, Quinn continued. "As you can see, the Feds are chomping at the bit to get to you. Right now I'm pretty much the only one holding them back. Let me ask you; a man named Arthur Mitchell is found dead three miles from where you live. Given the history between you and dear old dad, can you blame them? How would this scenario look to you?"

"I swear to God I didn't do anything!" Jonah objected. "Up until just now I thought this was about me ditching WITPRO!"

Emily looked over at Spencer. He said that Jonah is telling the truth about that, but is still hiding something; perhaps about some other case that may be indirectly connected to this one.

"That's what I've been telling these Federal goons all night." Quinn replied gently. "What I figure is someone is trying to set you up; or maybe it's just one of those one in a million chances. Either way you're in this now, so I'm going to need your help if I'm going to help you get out of it."

"How can I help?"

Quinn pulled another picture out of the folder and placed it face down on the table. Then he flipped it over to reveal the sketch that Jonah provided years ago. "You remember this guy, right?" He asked.

"Yes, I do. That's Kyle Butler." He said. "Right before... everything happened he showed up at church. He and dad became fast friends. All of the sudden he was always around; especially at Four Walls One Heart projects. Eventually he caught on to what an asshole my dad was to us, and on Thanksgiving he freaked right out. He even threatened to kill dad. With a knife."

"Wait," Emily asked. "What's Four Walls One Heart?"

"The church that the Mitchell's attended ran it as a charitable organization for the homeless; mostly building shelter and providing food." Spencer replied as Jonah relayed how Kyle once saved his dad from a falling accident. "Arthur headed up the project," Reid continued, "and in the process built several shelters all over the country. It turned out the project was really a ruse for him to accommodate his Trinity activities; what is also important to note is that Lundy's original profile was accurate, but incomplete because he missed the fact that Trinity was in fact killing in groups of four, not three. His first victim was always a 10 year old boy which he buried alive in the concrete foundation of each shelter."

"It was actually Detective Debra Morgan that figured that part out." Batista chimed in. "After her brother Dexter rescued a kid from a shelter being built here in Miami."

"You wouldn't by any chance know what Kyle did for a living, would you?"

Jonah shook his head no. "I think he might have been some kind or realtor. He may have said something about being able to close in some great deals for shelter locations, but I don't remember exactly."

"It looks like Kyle Butler is being moved to the top of the list." Batista said. "I'll go set up a BOLO on him with a copy of that sketch." Captain Batista then left the room.

"That's good; thank you Jonah, you're being very helpful now." Quinn nodded. "Now I wonder if maybe you've seen him since then."

"No" Jonah said, a little too flatly and quickly. Nobody in wither room needed Reid to advise that he might be lying about that.

"Are you sure?"

"Actually, I think he might be dead." Jonah said finally. "I seem to remember seeing something about him in the papers shortly after hurricane Laura hit."

"The way his eyes moved from one side of his head to the other suggests he's mixing truth with fabrication." Reid pointed out. "He's telling the truth, but he's also editing what he really knows."

"I see." Quinn said, and then took a pregnant pause. "You know what, Jonah? This interview is being observed." He cocked his head back slightly towards the 'mirror' and tapped his earwig gently. "They tell me you're not being straight with me. So unless you want to help me..."

"Look!" Jonah blurted louder than he meant to. "I don't know what else I can say!"

"We're not getting anywhere." Quinn said. "We're done for now; maybe you'll think of something else after you've cooled down a little." He then got up and ordered the uniforms outside the door to take Jonah back to his cell.

 _Ogunquit, Maine_

 _Where talking to Frank Lundy was like playing a game of verbal chess, talking to SSA David Rossi is a little bit like playing a game of verbal poker. While I have always been well known for my eloquence; especially in my former life, this particular game was really quite unnerving. In the past I have always managed this game quite successfully with many different opponents including the most worthy Frank Lundy. In his case, I`m still not entirely certain I clearly won; it has always felt more like a standoff._

 _David Rossi, one of the Founding Fathers of the BAU, was in a whole other league. Where Frank had a cold, expressionless approach which came off like he was perpetually probing – which was nerve wracking in its own regard in that one couldn`t help but feel like he was seeing every single dirty little secret – David Rossi was animated. He was warm and disarming; it was way too easy to drop your guard and tip your hand. To add to this, along with the woes of the monster formerly known as Dexter Morgan, briefly known as Kyle Butler, sometimes known as John Dough, and currently known as former Narcotics Detective Stan Liddy, I was a little bit out of practice for the Game at this level. While it`s true that a talent like this never quite goes away, research suggests it`s a lot like sports; after awhile you get rusty._

 _The point I`m getting at here is that my conversation with him yielded his autograph and very little else. I did learn that they did have a team in Miami; Emily Prentiss, Luke Alvez, and Doctor Spencer Reid. What`s worse, and even more than a little disconcerting was the idea that I couldn`t help but feel like I somehow tipped my hand to him. Thankfully, that was when Agent Jareau came back from her call to `Spence` where she told him they got nothing from the boat and that their jet was on its way to pick them up. Apparently there was yet another victim in Miami._

Despite his eagerness to look into the backgrounds of the agents in Miami, Dexter trudged through his shift with a deliberate and practical stoicism. Outwardly he was focused on what he was doing in the moment; anyone observing him would see ``Stan from Out of State` being nothing if not efficient and diligent in his duties. Inwardly, however, he was anything but; the work was simplistic, even boring and quite the insult to his real abilities. The lack of stimuli the job provided was proving more than a little irritating, especially since there were so many more important things to think about. What he found especially frustrating was that deep down he knew that despite all that Harry and Debs were right; he should walk away from this mess. As of yet there was nothing that even suggested that he was even on the FBI radar. For that matter, it wouldn`t matter even if Dexter Morgan was on their radar; Dexter Morgan was dead.

That was when, despite the fact that really nobody seemed to be around, he heard a cell phone ring. Because he was the only person in sight, he realized it must be his phone he was hearing; this deduction was made even though the phone he used as Stan Liddy was shut off for the time being. That could only mean one thing; his emergency line with Quinn must the source of the annoying tone. He and Joe Quinn had established separate phones that only the two of them even knew about in order to touch base should something important come up; the exclusive phones were so that nobody could ping their conversations based on their regular phone records. Dexter's faux line was under the name John Dough, and Quinn's under the name Andy Nomus. The rule was that this line was to be used exclusively between the two of them, so Dexter did not need to look at the display. He did anyway, purely out of habit; it was a good habit to keep in case that line should chirp to life while he was in a public place around people.

"Hello" he answered dryly.

"It's me." Quinn said on the other end. _As if I didn't know that._

"Oh" Dexter feigned surprise. "What's up?"

"We're crawling with Feds down here looking into those bodies you found – the butcher copycat?" Quinn answered. "I guess you know that much; knowing you the way I do I'm guessing you're also aware of the other body we found. What you might not know is that it was Astor that found him."

"Oh, my God" Dexter blurted. His surprise was genuine this time. For half a moment he stunned into silence. It always struck him as odd how when trouble came upon the kids he came as close to real _feelings_ as he ever supposed he would. "Is she alright?"

"That's what I'm calling you for." Quinn said. "Physically she's fine. What I'm worried about is how she reacted to it; or more specifically her behavior after the victim was identified. What I need to know is if she has ever shown any signs of psychosis to your knowledge."

 _Bed wetting, cruelty to animals, an unhealthy fascination with fire; I thought these were just a phase that she outgrew. Dexter the Dark Dumbass drops the ball again._

"Not that I'm aware of." He said. "Why do you ask?"

"When she found out the name of the victim she...kind of freaked out. See, the name the lab came up with was Arthur Mitchell."

 _That's impossible. I killed Arthur years ago; even if his body did turn up it would be little more than a mess of goop by now. Here I was thinking it was going to be someone she associated with Cody, Rita, or maybe even Me._

"Hold on a second," Dexter said. "Do you mean to tell me that this copycat found and killed Trinity; the man who killed my wife?"

Quinn was silent a moment until he understood Dexter's apparent confusion. "No, this is a different Arthur Mitchell. This guy was a retired attorney from Kentucky. The Feds think he was targeted in order to frame Trinity's son Jonah. We have him in custody now."

 _Actually, it's possible – unlikely but possible – that Jonah did kill this Arthur as a surrogate. You don't know it, Quinn, but it was really Jonah that killed his mother after his sister committed suicide. He was only barely smart enough to make it look like it was his dad forensically in Kearney, Nebraska._ Dexter saw no need to share that with Quinn; bringing that up might lead to questions that could lead Jonah into talking about what he knows about what really happened to his dad – presuming that he hasn't already spilled the beans. After all, as far as he knew, Dexter was one of the dearly departed.

"What does this have to do with Astor?" he asked.

"I overheard part of a conversation she had with one of the Feds; a real beanpole with ears named Reid." Quinn answered. "She said that it was too bad that the victim was not Trinity. In fact, she said it didn't matter to her how he died, just as long as he was dead."

 _I can't logically argue with her reasoning. Anyone with even a nodding acquaintance with logic can see that dead is dead; whether in a chair or on a table. Still, that's not a good sign for her. Could it be that Astor has a Dark Passenger of her own? Could she have managed to stem the Need up until now? Is she a Late Bloomer? Is her Darkness finally starting to surface? I have to find out._

"I don't find that so unusual," Dexter said, doing his medal best to sound cool about it. "I mean, Trinity did brutally murder her mother; I certainly can't blame her for resenting his existence."

"Maybe you're right. Tell you what; I'll keep an eye on her to make sure." Quinn said quietly.

"That sounds good."

"Anyway, we think Jonah might have some information on a more viable suspect. Do you remember how Trinity had that probable ally turned adversary? That guy named Kyle Butler that we never found?"

 _That was the name I gave to Arthur when I was closing in on him._

"It sounds familiar."

"So far the kid hasn't given up much; he thinks he might have been some kind Realtor, and believes he might have gotten killed during Laura."

 _That's encouraging. He hasn't given Me up. Then again, if he did out Dearly Departed Dexter for the killing of Arthur Mitchell, he ran the risk of blowing his own cover._

"Maybe he's genuinely in the dark regarding Butler's location." Dexter suggested. "I know I've been out of the loop for a long time, but my move would be to cut him loose and see where he leads you. Maybe even put a uniform on him."

 _What the fuck are you doing, Dex?_ Deb challenged.

 _The BAU are leaving, son._ Harry admonished him. _You're clearly off the hook this time. Leave this alone._

"Maybe you've still got that Midas Touch, Poindexter. I'll hold on to him for another day so it looks like we really mean business."

"That's a good call." Dexter agreed. "Oh, and I wouldn't worry too much about Astor; I'm sure she'll be fine. I mean, keep an eye on her, for sure, but I seriously think she's just venting." Then he disconnected the call before Quinn could say anything else. Immediately following that, he switched over to the Liddy line to call his foreman. Once he had him, he spun a delightfully simple tale about how he had a niece in Miami in some kind of legal trouble, and since he was really the only one she would talk to about it, not to mention the professional courtesy he could still muster, he had to go down to Miami to deal with this family emergency. The foreman told him that he could go home and wished him all the best.

 _What in the seven fucking hells are you doing, Dex?_ Deb challenged him again.

"My RV is in storage in Bangor." Dexter replied. "It's a 25 hour drive from Bangor to Miami. If I leave quickly, I can be there around this time tomorrow if I drive straight through."

 _What fucking good does that do?_ She retorted. _Why do you want to go back to Miami and risk everything for anyway, you crazy fuck?_

"I'm going to check on Astor." He answered. "I need to know if the combination of her biological father's abuse and the activities of my Dark Passenger have had an adverse affect on her."

 _If you've had –_ Debra spat. _Well, no shit, Sherlock! What the fuck did you expect?_

 _What's the plan, Dexter?_ Harry interjected. _What are you going to do if you do find something?_

As usual, Harry was right. Dexter had no real plan; for all his magnificent Lizard-Brain Power, he had no idea what he was going to do in Miami.

 _For fuck sake; you're planning to teach her that God-fucking Code of yours, aren't you?_ Deb said. _What the hell kind of sick bullshit legacy is that supposed to be, you psycho killer fucktard?_

 _Now that you mention it, Debs, that's not a bad idea. Why shouldn't I make sure there's a new figure to take out the trash, to balance the scales? As far as I know, Astor hasn't actually killed anyone yet, so the Code would be the best way to focus her Darkness if it's really there. There may still be time to instill in her the standards and criteria of the Code to keep her safe if necessary..._

"That's insane," he said, "even for me. If anything, I would encourage her to use her ability to think like One of Us and her tendencies to track and catch people like Me."

 _You are so full of shit I can smell it even though I'm dead._ Debra retorted.

"I don't need this right now." He waved Deb off. "I'm going. But first I need to take a couple steps to know what I'm getting into and to make sure I don't get recognized too quickly." With that, Dexter went back to his apartment, where he had a few supplies for a quick change of appearance in case he ever needed to bolt and of course a couple of items and some cash in the event he needed to make a break for it. Even now, the First Rule of the Code – Don't get caught – still held. Once in his apartment, he went straight to the washroom. He started with a lightning fast shower and shampoo; and then began to trim his scraggly Stan Liddy beard down...


	9. Chapter 9

_Bangor, Maine_

Dexter would have much preferred to have researched the BAU members in Miami, but he had to get moving; his research would just have to wait.

His new look complete with a neat and trim beard and a shaved head, along with costume contact lenses to change his eye color from bright blue to a rather generic brown, Dexter Morgan climbed into his RV. He started the engine while he ran a mental review of his transient identification. For the time being he was John Dough. _I'm just a bumpkin from Wisconsin on a little vacation._ Whoever Quinn had to help set these identifications was really good; John Dough's ID was sterling. He even had a background to check on, complete with documentation that said he was raised in an orphanage and even at least two medical incidents: John Dough had his tonsils removed when he was ten, and his appendix removed when he was fifteen. Just about any search into John Dough would turn up as a completely legitimate person with a completely real life. _Top that, Witness Protection._

With the RV all warmed up and ready to go, John Dough pulled out of the storage lot and began to roll into the streets of Bangor and onto the Interstate heading south. He had a long haul ahead of him, and should probably grab about a gallon of coffee for the trip.

 _Have you at least worked out a plan, Dexter?_ Harry asked from the passenger seat.

"Actually, I do." Dexter replied matter of factly. "Quinn said he was going to hold Jonah for another day before cutting him loose. That gives me time to find a place to settle for awhile and catch up on research. I'll need to know all I can find out about the BAU agents on the copycat case. Then I'm going to do a check on Astor; see what she's been doing and try to determine if I need to approach her. If I do, then I need to figure out how to do it. Then I'll need to talk to Jonah; make sure he knows it's in his best interest to keep quiet."

 _What if it turns out that Astor is like you? What will you do about it?_

"I'm not sure," Dexter admitted. "I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it."

 _You better make sure you know what you're doing, Dexter._ Harry warned. _That bridge is probably a lot closer than you think._

Then Harry was gone. He was right, of course. Dexter had to make up his mind on what course of action to take if Astor did have a Dark Passenger. Th first option he saw off the bat was that he could try to share Harry's Code with her. This option had a certain appeal that he couldn't deny. It meant that he could ensure that she would continue his Work, and if she followed the Code, then she wouldn't get caught, and thus give Him a certain kind of immortality. This was assuming that he wasn't too late; that if she had a Passenger it was only stirring now and she hadn't acted out just yet. The second option was to completely redirect her thinking entirely; to focus her innate talents and urges towards tracking and capturing people like them within legal parameters. Dexter's personal theory was that every single one of those BAU people was just like him anyway. The only difference was that they somehow chose to use their urges and compulsions legally. Much like Him, they had a Code; it was just deemed more acceptable because the government could use it to their advantage because they instituted it. _It takes a killer to catch a killer._ The third option he could see was one that he dismissed almost out of hand; find her a doctor. The problem with that option was that it was likely to get her institutionalised.

 _On the Jet_

Having determined that there was nothing left for them relating to this case in Maine, JJ and Rossi were headed south to Miami on the jet. David Rossi never much liked the city of Miami; though he couldn't ever really give anyone who asked a clear reason why. Truth was he didn't clearly know himself. One thing he did know was that he absolutely detested the nearly perpetual gridlock of traffic that had developed. Miami was a big city that held to a small town infrastructure as far as its streets went. That was the worst thing; he didn't even mind the heat or the humidity next to that. There was also the homicide solve rate the city had. At 27% it wasn't exactly stellar. Then again, the reason for that had more to do with the elevated level of gangland violence than anything else. After the Ukrainian Koshka Brotherhood got pushed out a few years ago, a vacuum was created and quickly filled by an upstart Brazilian Cartel which went straight after the already established Cubans. To add to the mess, the Irish Kings also moved in, selling arms to both sides. The bottom line was that the number of homicides in Miami was quite literally out of control.

The phones of both JJ and Rossi rang simultaneously. Almost like synchronised swimmers, they both answered. Immediately Garcia announced herself and advised that she had them in conference with Prentiss, Reid, and Alvez.

"You know I'm really terrible with any kind of cloak and dagger type stuff, but some of the material I dug up is rather sensitive, and I think it's possible that there might and I stress the word might be some kind of cover up going on."

"Go on, Garcia" Prentiss said.

"Okay; you remember how the Boy Wonder asked me to look into the now dearly departed Dexter Morgan, former forensics analyst for Miami Metro, right?"

Rossi nodded. "Yeah, he was the blood spatter specialist that drove his boat into hurricane Laura." He confirmed.

"His name kept coming up in multiple threads in several cases that seem related to the original Bay harbor Butcher case." Reid added. "In fact, there are records that suggest that at least two different detectives: James Doakes and Maria LaGuerta even suspected him of being the Butcher. Of course the final conclusion was that Doakes tried to frame him to cover his own crimes and then LaGuerta bought into some of his falsified evidence because she had had a previous relationship with Doakes and wanted to clear his name."

"Okay, good; we're all caught up there." Garcia said. "Before I go on, I should say that whoever is behind this has some incredibly awesome cyber-skills; as in, if they weren't using those skills for something so sneaky and awful I would want to meet this person and trade recipes because I almost missed this entirely and it was only really pure luck that I caught it at all..."

"Garcia..." Rossi broke her rant. Sometimes Penelope Garcia got sidetracked and went on tangents. She was brilliant, but could be easily distracted and needed to be nudged back onto the topic of discussion. Reid had an even greater tendency to do that; Rossi figured it was because they were so bright and they were able to process so much information all at once they sometimes had difficulty filtering it. In Reid's case it could also be a mild form autism.

"...right. Anyway, The only reason I caught on anything was amiss was because of this image of a memorial photo of Dexter Morgan, which I am sending to you now, and then this image of former Narcotics Agent Stan Liddy taken in Ogunquit, Maine. Look at them side by side and you'll see what I mean."

Dave Rossi and JJ both looked at the monitor of the laptop on the jet. On the screen were two pictures: One of Stan Liddy which looked more or less like the man that called in the three bodies found on the beach in Maine, and the other of a clean shaven, well groomed man in a lab coat. What Garcia was talking about was immediately obvious.

"Is this right, Garcia?" JJ asked.

"Give Liddy a shave and run a comb through his hair and they could be identical twins." Rossi commented. "Is there any record of the two of them being related?" It was already known that Dexter was adopted by Officer Harry Morgan and his wife Doris, and that as a result of that adoption Dexter had a younger sister named Debra; also killed in the line of duty with Miami Metro homicide. What was also known was that Dexter Morgan was born Dexter Moser, brother of Brian Moser aka the Ice Truck Killer.

"I don't think that's what this is about." Reid said on the other end of this conference. "Garcia, by any chance are there any other images of Stan Liddy?"

"What are you thinking, Spence?" JJ asked.

"As usual, our beautiful boy genius is on the right track, JJ." Garcia answered. "And as usual I'm a step and a half ahead of you all, because I do indeed have an image of one Stan Liddy taken before his retirement from Miami Metro and I am sending it to you... now." A third image appeared on the monitor; this one of a completely different person. This one was of a middle aged man, nearly bald, in a suit that bordered on being outright gaudy. "This photo was taken in 2010 and used in an ad in the Obituary column of Miami Herald in 2011. Please don't ask me how I unearthed it; suffice it to say that somebody went to impressive lengths to bury the article and make the world forget that Stan Liddy was stabbed to death six years ago. This same somebody also went to great lengths to create an identity based on Stan Liddy to convince the world he was alive and well and enjoying his retirement. In fact, all the documentation is as close to being legitimate as you can possibly get without literally raising someone from the dead. As creepy as that is, I have to admit I am impressed."

"I'll be damned." Rossi said. "Stan Liddy is really Dexter Morgan. Whoever is helping him pulled an almost perfect switch. With the amount of times Dexter seems to come up in this case, he has to know more than he's let on so far."

"We'll need to question him." Prentiss agreed. The lamentation that Rossi and JJ were already on their way to Miami was clear in her voice. "Garcia, contact the Federal Marshal and have him send the nearest deputy to take Dexter into custody and bring him here."

"While you're at it, you might want to contact Sheriff Ryan Burton in Ogunquit to make sure Dexter doesn't leave town." Rossi added.

"I already tried to do that, and it seems that Stan Liddy has already left town on a family emergency." Garcia replied. "He's coming to Miami as we speak."

 _Miami, Florida_

"Okay, thanks Garcia" Emily said. Now she had to decide who to go to in order to advise Miami Metro that watch for one Dexter Morgan – believed by most if not all in the department to be deceased – who may be coming into the city. The problem was that anyone in the department who may be aware that Dexter is alive is in all likely one of his allies on some level or another. That means they likely were in on whatever play he was running with and not likely to come clean about it.

"So who do we reach out to so we can bring him in?" She asked the team.

"I recommended Lieutenant Miller." Reid answered. "I think Captain Batista might be involved with this subterfuge; and since Quinn was his partner, it's safe to guess Quinn will back him up."

"What about Deputy Chief Matthews?" Prentiss suggested.

Reid shook his head to say no. "It's well documented that he and the Morgan's were close. He's made himself scarce in this specific case, and I suspect he'll do almost anything to keep his involvement to a minimum. Odds are good that he'd just as soon dismiss us altogether rather than entertain any thought that Dexter is still alive. For that matter it's entirely possible he might be involved right along with Batista; if Batista is indeed involved."

"Why do you seem so certain that Angel is part of this?" Alvez inquired. It was a fair question; as far as Emily could tell Captain Angelo Batista was one of the cleanest cops she'd ever met.

"I've noticed that whenever the subject of Dexter comes up he gets distant." Reid answered. "He either gives the briefest answers possible or he saturates his responses with a lot of unnecessary words, he avoids eye contact, and perhaps most telling of all he gets fidgety. For example, he'll remove his hat and fuss with lint or dust that isn't even there. It's like he's either too hurt by the tragedy or it's a tactic to cover a deception altogether."

Lieutenant Angela Miller burst into the conference room; a copy of the Miami Herald held under one arm.

"We have a problem." She said as she marched into the room and turning on the television set. A channel six news anchor; an attractive red haired woman appeared on the screen. Meanwhile, Miller handed the paper to Prentiss.

Emily took the paper and saw the front page headline read: "BAY HARBOR BUTCHER RETURNS!" The article announced the FBI presence in the city, and talked about how the police blew it on the original Butcher case and got the wrong guy. It suggested that the new killings were the work o the same UNSUB, and included a rough yet accurate timeline of the murders.

"...when we received the following message in our own station newsroom..." The anchor said on the screen. The screen then changed to a graphic of a tape recorder as a voice came on.

"The cops got the wrong guy. The real Butcher is out there, and he's back in business. That's why the FBI is in town."

"I can tell you one thing for damn sure;" Miller said, "it wasn't anyone on my end that leaked to the press."

"In all likelihood it was the UNSUB himself." Alvez retorted. "We already predicted the copycat was probably either trying to cash in on the original's notoriety or passing himself off as the original. This is his way of trying to authenticate his efforts and taunt us at the same time."

Miller perked up at the idea of the UNSUB making contact. "Then we need to get that recording so we can do a voice print analysis!" She exclaimed. "And we have to do a press release; put the public at ease that this department didn't screw up. We got the right original Butcher, this new one is a copycat; we know this because there are certain key inconsistencies between these crimes and the original ones. While we're at it we can put up a BOLO of this Kyle Butler guy, using the sketch for a description."

"That's an excellent idea." Emily agreed. "I'll join you in the conference." She and the Lieutenant left the conference room together, passing Quinn, Batista, and Masuka in the hallway as they did. Miller requested Quinn and Batista to join them. Prentiss decided then to take Reid's recommendation and talk about setting up a watch for the allegedly deceased Dexter Morgan; his most likely point of entry being the Interstate 95. She would do that right after the press conference; once she could get the Lieutenant alone.

Jacob Elway listened on the car radio to the news as he watched the check out ramp at the airport. All the talk was about the Bay Harbor Butcher; very much like first time he was discovered. They did the report, the Butcher made the front page – complete with a timeline of his work including the bodies some loser janitor named Stan Libby or some shit from Maine found. They played a recording of his message; and then it occurred to Jacob that there was a big hole in his little play. Odds were that once the cops and the Feds heard it they would clue in that that the Mitchell kid had nothing to do with any of this. He also figured it wouldn't much mater anyway; since it was going to be any day now that Hannah McKay was going to running back to Miami, in the hopes of reuniting with her beloved Dexter. She would probably even bring his little brat of a son Harrison with her. When she did, Elway Investigations would have an investigator waiting at every possible entrance to grab her and bring her in. Then he could collect the reward and the commendations for capturing one of the deadliest women on the planet. That was fame and fortune the American Way. God bless America.

The News on the radio gave way to a talk show; the sarcastic jerk-off host opening his show with a segment on the Butcher. His opening comments announced that the FBI and Miami Metro Homicide were preparing a press conference in response to the news, and that so far the only comment they were willing to give was that these new killings were not the same person as the original Bay Harbor Butcher. Next the host reminisced about how the last time around there was a throng of "Butcher Backers"; people who actually _supported_ that sick bastard and genuinely thought of him as some kind vigilante _hero._ Elway had no doubt that Morgan may have even bought his own press on that one. He probably thought of himself as a real-life Batman... or maybe more like the Punisher; or whatever the fuck that guy with skull-face tights in the comics called himself. When the host started taking calls, the general attitude from the public seemed to be a repeat of history: _Thank God somebody's out there cleaning the streets up. Crooks are getting what they deserve. I finally feel a little bit safer. I bet the cops let real Butcher go because they need him to pick up their slack..._

Grinning, Elway shut off the radio. So far, everything was going exactly as he planned. Now all he had to do was wait...

Miller and Prentiss set up the press conference quickly, but apparently not nearly quickly enough. Talk radio soundboards were lighting up like Christmas, and word around the station was that social media sites like Facebook and Twitter were going crazy about the return of the Bay Harbor Butcher. _Hashtag welcome back butcher_ was apparently trending worldwide even now. It was almost enough to make Sergeant Detective Joe Quinn wince. At the moment, he was standing in front of the press with all their cameras and microphones aimed at the team he was standing with, so he did his level best to maintain a stone-faced cop on the case expression.

The line-up for the press conference was as follows: Quinn at the far left, and to his right Batista. To the right of Batista was Miller, who was sharing the podium with Prentiss, at her right. Right of Prentiss was Reid, and to the right of Reid was Alvez.

"After strenuous review of all available evidence," Miller said, "the homicide division of Miami Metro Police have determined with every confidence that these new killings are the work of a copycat, and that our original assessment of the original case was accurate; James Doakes was the original Bay Harbor Butcher. Following much consultation with the FBI, we have identified several inconsistencies in the patterns of both sets of crimes that indicate the copycat was probably not privy to all the evidence and therefore unable to replicate the crimes accurately."

"Pardon me, but what are these alleged inconsistencies?" One reporter asked.

"We are not at liberty to divulge that information at this time as it could potentially hinder our investigation." Miller replied.

What about the rumors that you have a suspect already in custody?" Another reporter blurted. "Do you have any comment about that?"

"We are currently interviewing a potential witness in relation the most recent murder." Prentiss interjected. "For the sake of safety we are not prepared to reveal the identity of this witness, but we cannot stress enough that this person is not a suspect."

"Has this so called witness provided any useful leads?" the second reporter asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes" Prentiss replied. Quinn was genuinely impressed with how well Emily was protecting Jonah's identity; she wasn't even giving up his gender. "Our witness has provided us with a composite sketch of a suspect." She paused as Reid held up the sketch of Kyle Butler. For a moment Quinn flashed on the time he tried to get Jonah to identify Dexter as Butler. He remembered that for just a fraction of a second, he was sure that Jonah recognized Dexter from the photo he showed him.

"We ask the public to be on the lookout for this man, whom our witness has identified as Kyle Butler. He is a Caucasian male in his late 30's or early 40's and may work in realty. He is normally very calm and mild mannered; and can be described as tidy and polite. It is also known that he has a violent temper, so we ask the public not to approach him if you see him, but to notify the authorities as soon as possible."

Then Miller thanked for their time and closed up the conference. That was when Quinn's phone vibrated; he set the ringer to buzz for the conference. He looked at the display and saw it was Astor. He nudged Angel and waved his phone at him to indicate he had to take the call. Angel nodded and went about his way.

"This is Quinn." He answered. "Thrill me, Astor."

"Hi, Uncle Joey," Astor greeted back. "You asked me to check for any digital trails that linked the victims to each other besides their criminal history."

"Yeah, I did." He confirmed. "Would I be wrong to guess that you found something?"

"No, you wouldn't."

"What've you got?"

"I'll start with Hector." Astor replied. "Right after he got released into the public after his PTSD thing, his neighbors hired a Private Investigator named Jacob Elway to tail him for awhile to determine if his claims were true and if he was really getting therapy. Elway was able to confirm that Hector Corazon was indeed suffering from and getting treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I'm sure you're already well aware of Norman the kid and how his mother hired Elway to keep tabs on her baby boy following his accident; I know you know all about Elway's association with Nadine Michaelsen."

Quinn had an idea where this was all going; so far that was three out of five that could be connected to Jacob Elway. "Is that it?" He asked, having the idea in his head that it most certainly was not.

"Not quite," Astor said. "You're smart enough to connect the same dots I did, so it should go without saying that I hacked Elway Investigations- or more specifically their founder- and found out that he was nosing around the online activities of a certain retired lawyer from Louisville Kentucky named Arthur Mitchell. We now have four out of five connections to Jacob Elway. As for Alex 'one shot' Oxford, I couldn't make any direct connection, but I did find a number of calls made to one particular number that turns out to belong to someone who just so happens to be on a watch list for likely affiliates with the Miami branch of the Irish Kings. Unfortunately, we are yet to have any definite evidence of this affiliation."

"The Irish Kings sell arms to pretty much whoever can afford them." Quinn confirmed. "That makes them a very clear and present threat to public safety."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but Oxford was a hit man, and that would mean he would have to buy weapons and ammunition, right?" She asked rhetorically. It was starting to seem to Quinn that Dexter may have been right. It was looking like Astor was going to be fine. She was right, of course. If Elway could be linked to Oxford, then they may have two suspects on their hands; or it was entirely possible that Elway would know how to find Butler. The latter seemed more likely to Quinn; Elway was an asshole, not a killer.

"What's the name of the possible I.K.?" He asked. Astor told him and Quinn smiled broadly. He knew the man; it was one of Confidential Informants back when he worked Narcotics. Quinn had no idea he was associated with the Irish Kings, but that didn't matter now. "Thanks Astor; you did good work today." He hung up and started to leave to go talk to his C.I.

"Hey, Quinn" Angel called him over. "Where are you going?"

"I just spoke with Astor." Quinn answered. Neither Prentiss nor Miller was anywhere in sight, and Reid and Alvez were well out of earshot. "She was able to connect four out of five of our victims to one common denominator, and she came up with a lead that might or might not connect Oxford as well. I'm going to try and confirm that with a C.I. right now. Thing is, I don't want any of the Feds with me on this one; the guy I'm going to go see will shut right down if I bring a Federal Agent with me."

Angel nodded. "I get it." He said. "I figure the Feds are a little busy right now anyways. It turns out that their tech geek back in Virginia figured out Dex is alive, and probably headed this way. They think he might know more about this case than they thought and are planning on reaching out to the State Police to try and intercept him."

"Son of a bitch" Quinn hissed. "How'd you find this out?"

"I overheard Prentiss and Miller." Angel replied, keeping his voice low and his head down so his lips couldn't be read. "My best guess is that they somehow matched up photographs and made the ID that way. What I don't get is why the fuck is he coming here."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't fucking know." He retorted. It felt shitty to lie to his Captain, partner and friend like that; he knew damn well why Poindexter was coming back. This was his fault; he never should have told him about Astor's comments regarding Mitchell. "I'll take care of it; give Dex a heads up or something." He wanted to get out of there, and to change the subject. "So listen up; I think Jonah might be able to give us a better idea where we might find that guy Butler, but we'll have better luck if we cut him loose so he can lead us to him."

"How do you figure that?" Angel asked.

"In their first encounter, Jonah claimed Butler was trying to help him. My guess is that they're working together to track down and remove Trinity from the face of the earth. I suggest we press the kid a little more for show, and then turn him loose. While you're pressing him, we get a trace on his phone. Once he's out, we put a tail on him. I'm willing to bet that sooner or later we'll find Butler through Jonah."

After a moment of assessing the plan, Angel nodded his approval. "I'm on it." He said.

Quinn thanked Angel and left to go talk to his Confidential Informant, whom Quinn knew very well had an association with the Irish Kings.


	10. Chapter 10

_Approaching Baltimore, Maryland_

 _You might want to ease up on that fuckin' gas pedal there, leadfoot!_ Debra said from the back seat.

 _She's right, Dexter._ Harry agreed from the shotgun seat. _You're already making good time, and getting stopped by highway patrol for speeding is not what you need right now._

Reluctantly, Dexter eased off the accelerator; they were right, of course. He surprised himself a little by not being as bothered by that fact as much as he once would have been; he was even starting to get used to Deb rattling around in his head as she was. What was disturbing was how they were actually agreeing with each other now that they were both dead and gone from this world. _Maybe being dead helped them realize how much alike they really were._ When he was alive, Harry would do all he could find time to do to discourage Deb from taking the career path she took; Dexter was never sure if that was to protect her or if it was part of his plan to protect him. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Meanwhile, everything Deb did was an attempt to please and gain a little bit of favor from him; there was no doubt in any version of reality that Debra Morgan was a daddy's girl. _Granted, she was a daddy's girl with the mouth of a trucker, but..._

It was because of Dexter's...condition... that Harry devoted most his time with him, so Deb always got the very short end of Harry's attention. It was almost certain that Deb often felt ignored and even left out of a lot of father/child time as a result. In all honesty, it was something of a miracle – which Dexter did not believe in – that Debra turned out as well as she did. If Dexter was capable of human emotion, he would have felt bad for Deb; she deserved better than that. _Not that any of that matters now; they're both dead and gone._

The RV slowed down to a mere 10 miles over the posted limit; which was pretty much the norm for traffic on the I-95. After exceeding the limit by 25 miles, the speed felt almost like a slow crawl in comparison.

 _You know you're taking a huge fuckin' risk here, Dex._ Deb said.

"Yes, I know." Dexter answered; starting to get annoyed. "You should stay out this Dexter. It's not your fucking problem, Dexter. Leave it alone, Dexter. Walk the fuck away from this, Dexter..."

 _How about 'shut the fuck up and let me finish, dumbass!'_ She stopped him cold. _I was going to say that I wouldn't have expected this from you, even if maybe I should have. You're sticking your neck out for someone else in a big way; just like you used to for me. It makes me proud that you're brother, and I'm glad Astor has you in her corner. You're doing this for her, and really you stand to gain nothing for it. That's very human of you._

That wasn't entirely true; as he continued on his way home; he had been entertaining the notion of passing on the Code to Astor more and more. If she did have a piece of the Darkness inside starting to bloom inside of her, she was ahead of the spiral already and should be easy to train. According to Quinn, she was already a wizard on the computer and quite competent in forensics; that meant she likely had research skills (make sure you know your mark) and the ability to either manipulate or destroy evidence (don't get caught) well in hand. From what he was just told about her mindset, she wasn't likely to be too particular about making sure those who deserved to die got what they had earned, so that wasn't going to be a problem. All that was really left was the actual act; he had to know if that was her thing or not. If it was, then Dexter found he rather liked the idea of having an heir to his altar of carnal justice; the idea of leaving a legacy of blood and punishment felt good. He might not care much for the moniker of Bay Harbor Butcher, but he supposed it would have to do. If he took Astor under his gore-caked wing, his career would live on; possibly as an ongoing tradition. This would be a part of history; like that Frank Brietkoff guy, or George Foyet, aka the Boston Reaper. _Hell, why not shoot for the moon and say like that Mr. Scratch that is still at large after escaping? Or why not even say like Zodiac?_ Dexter supposed that even Trinity had earned a spot on the legacy of murder history.

Even if the actual kill wasn't Astor's thing, what he had gleaned so far suggested that if nothing else, she could be of use as an aide; a sort of insurance policy to ensure there were no mistakes. Maybe by keeping her close, he could keep her safe. _If she knows the score, then she'll know what to do to take care of herself._

The John Dough phone chirped to indicate that Quinn was sending him a text message. Grunting resentfully, Dexter pulled the RV over to the shoulder. He needed to take a Pit-Stop anyway. He read the text with no small amount of dismay:

 **RU COMING HERE? WTF? Y?!**

Dexter rolled his eyes; he hated that text language shit. He opted not to reply; at least not until after he relieved his bladder. The coffee was catching up to him. While in the RV's water closet, he heard the phone chirp again, indicating another text message.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn" Dexter shouted. "What is it now?"

He finished up and looked at the new message:

 **NEVER MIND. U NEED TO NO. FEDS R ON 2 U. STATE POLICE HAVE BOLO 4 U.**

Mangled grammar aside, the message was clear. This was not a good situation. _How did the feds figure it out? Was it something I did? Was it something I said? How much did they know? Does it matter anymore?_

Dexter decided that it didn't really matter _how_ they caught on; what mattered was they knew about him now. This changed everything... well, no it didn't; not yet. It might not be as bad as he thinks it is. Quinn only knew so much; he still believed that James Doakes was the first Bay Harbor Butcher. Dexter seriously doubted that he would have given the heads up if it was anything more than his cover as Stan Liddy was blown. What this new development did change was how he was going to approach everything. He needed to come up with a new strategy. He needed to reassess his options.

 _Miami, Florida_

Other than FBI's private jet coming in, from Maine, Elway guessed, nothing really worth his noting was happening at the airport. None of his sources indicated anyone named Hannah McKay or Claire Thompson booked on any flights into Miami from Argentina or anywhere. There was nobody exiting that looked anything like that psycho bitch. His sources in Jacksonville reported nothing, either; he advised them she might come back, since she may possibly have an interest in the Bay Harbor Butcher case. So far it seemed she was not taking the bait, after all.

A little while ago, Jacob turned his radio back on, and caught a news piece about a press conference. Neither the cops nor the Feds named Jonah Mitchell, but he was referred to as a possible witness; not a suspect. That was disappointing, but not that big of a deal; they also mentioned a genuine suspect named Kyle Butler. Since that was not an alias he ever used, Jacob Elway was confident that they were nowhere close to associating him with anything other than having worked briefly for Nadine Michaelsen and of course the Norman Grant case. Just to be sure, he leaned across to the passenger seat and opened his laptop to check and see if he could pull up a photo or a sketch on this Kyle Butler mentioned on today's press conference. He found video footage of the conference; Miller and that hot brunette number that Quinn showed up with at his office seemed to be the main attraction. Also present were Batista, Quinn, some beefcake fed and a skinny pretty-boy who looked more like a runway model than a federal agent. Eventually, the pretty boy held up a sketch; the camera zoomed in to get a clear view of a white guy with dark hair, a pinched face with eyes that seemed just a little too close together and a pointy chin. He looked like Elway; that was what mattered. He shut down the computer and closed it back up. He snapped the radio back off and stepped out of the car, reaching the breast pocket of his light jacket for a pack of smokes that weren't there anymore since he quit two months ago. Cussing under his breath, he went to the trunk of his car and opened it up to grab an orange flavored "ACTIVADE". Opening the bottle, he slammed down about half of it in three large gulps before placing it on the roof of the car to close the trunk.

"Where the fuck is she?" he muttered to himself. "She should have come running!" Far more frustrated and stressed than he thought he would be, he swore and slammed his fists onto the trunk; it was starting to look like his little charade was all for nothing. Swearing again, he kicked the rear tire.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Jacob whirled around, ready to take a swing at the source of the voice behind him, and stopped himself just in time. It was an airline security guard; a young guy, probably new at the job.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He lied, putting on his best fake smile. "Actually, no I'm not; not really. See, my girl was supposed to meet me here and I'm starting to think she stood me up. I've been waiting for hours and she hasn't called or answered her phone."

The guard nodded as if he could relate. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

No, there wasn't anything he could do to help. Although he just did, in a way. The break in his train of thought allowed Jacob to recall a small detail he hadn't even considered until now. Hannah McKay had a girl friend here in Miami. She helped McKay escape custody before; if she was going to reach out to anyone, it would be her old accomplice and friend, Arlene Shram.

"No, I don't think so." He said to the guard. "I'm just a little stressed out; maybe I'll just go home and see if I can find out more there. Thanks anyway." He nudged his way by the guard, grabbing the ACTIVADE off the roof and got into his car to drive away. That guard would think nothing of his encounter with what will almost certainly be regarded as 'that asshole boyfriend'. That was fine. He would have to check, but Jacob Elway was almost 100% sure that Arlene Shram still lived in the same place as she did the last time he tried for the McKay award.

As soon as SSA Jareau and Rossi got to the Homicide Division of Miami Metro, an African American woman named Lieutenant Angela Miller led them straight into the conference room which had been set up as a central investigation unit for the Bay Harbor Butcher Copycat case. Two white boards were set up to resemble a diagonal mirror; one focused on the original Butcher, the other on the copycat. Based on the amount of detail on both boards- the precision of it all- JJ knew the board work had to be Spence; only he would be able to recall both cases so perfectly.

Alvez approached them and shook hands first with Dave, and then with JJ as they entered. Emily was talking to a Hispanic – probably Cuban – man with a snazzy hat and a terrible shirt that reminded her of that awful wallpaper in the kitchen that Will insisted on keeping. Despite the intensity of the case at hand, JJ couldn't help but smile a little. Spence was sitting in a swivel chair, studying the boards and swinging the chair gently from left to right. Emily looked up and saw them with Alvez and waved them into the room. Greetings were made quickly.

"Captain Angelo Batista, this is SSA David Rossi, and SSA Jennifer Jareau." Emily introduced the two new team members to the man in the terrible shirt. As they shook hands with the Captain, he requested they call him Angel; that's what everybody does.

"I know who you are." Batista said to Dave. "You have a bunch of books on the best sellers list, and one of my guys took in a seminar you taught on interrogation techniques."

"Is that right?" Dave replied.

"Yeah" Angel confirmed. "Sergeant Joe Quinn took it in back when he was still in Narcotics a few years back. That was part of the reason he got moved into homicide."

"Where is Quinn, anyway?" Emily asked. "I haven't seen him since the press conference."

"He went dark for a little while; he said he got a possible lead that could connect all the victims so far with one specific person. Thing is, he's gotta talk to a CI to confirm that connection, and that CI will shut completely down if you guys are anywhere near him." Batista answered. JJ noticed that the Captain wasn't quite making eye contact as he told this. That suggested to her he wasn't telling on outright lie, but was probably editing the real story for some reason; or at least getting ready to if they pressed him. Not that it mattered much; being married to a Metro detective herself, she was able to get the picture of what was happening here.

"His CI has some stroke with the underground." She said. "Your guy has to play this very carefully; maybe even pretend to be on the take in order to make the connection work."

The captain took his hat off and picked at some imaginary lint on it. "I wouldn't know anything about that." He said.

"It's bending the rules, but it gets the job done." Emily said; JJ couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard and saw a hint of admiration in her voice and body language. She had noted before that Prentiss did seem to be drawn to what she called 'the good bad boy'. She had a habit of dating some real lovely pieces of work as a result.

"Where are we on this case?" Rossi asked.

Spence twirled his chair to face the group.

"The first three victims, the ones that washed ashore in Ogunquit and one of the two dumped here in Miami all had some connection to some murder here in their history." Spence began. "Hector Corazon was quickly pardoned for his crime due to his PTSD; even his neighbors, the family of the man he attacked apparently forgave him shortly after he started therapy. Alex Oxford was a suspected assassin with possible terror ties and probable ties specifically with the Irish Kings. Norman Grant was a 15 year old child who accidently killed the clerk of a liquor store in a botched robbery attempt. Because of his age the court decided to him a chance at rehabilitation outside the prison system. Unlike the original Butcher this copycat weighed his first bodies down poorly. Normally that would indicate the UNSUB is inexperienced, but after the following two dumps I think the poor weighing down might be intentional."

"How do you figure?" JJ asked.

"The next victim, Nadine Michaelsen, was deliberately dumped on the Miami shoreline very shortly after being paroled pending her trial for the murder of her husband. Since then, media has received messages that make it sound like the Butcher has come back. This suggests the UNSUB wants the bodies to be discovered; I think the first three might have been intentionally weighed down poorly so they would be washed up but somehow got caught in a current which carried them away. Then they washed up in Maine, the UNSUB either saw the news or has access to police incidents across the nation and changed his method to dumping them on land."

Rossi nodded meditatively. "That makes sense. We profiled this guy as not a psychotic, so changing up his MO would not be an issue; he's honing his skills and altering his method as a means of efficiency. He has no specific ritual. What about the last victim? What's his story?"

"He was a retired attorney originally from Louisville Kentucky named Arthur Mitchell. His most recent Miami address was a hunting cabin right on the edge of the Everglades. He had no criminal record or any clear connections to any murders. That is, other than his name being similar to the identity of the Trinity Killer."

"I thought the name was familiar." Rossi commented. "I remember Lundy wouldn't ever leave that case alone. For the longest time I thought he was chasing a ghost and told him so. Even Gideon had his doubts. It turned out we were wrong. Do we have any idea why this Arthur Mitchell was killed?"

"Most likely because he had the misfortune of sharing a name with a known serial killer." Emily answered. "The real Trinity couldn't be found, so the namesake probably serves as a surrogate. Both Trinity and the Butcher were high profile cases in Florida. This kill is symbolic for the Copycat."

"Also the Mitchell killing stands apart for another reason." Spence added. "All the others were killed with a single stab wound to the chest. Mitchell was killed with multiple blows to the face with a ball peen hammer. All the victims were dismembered, which is how we know it was the same UNSUB."

"Don't forget that all the bodies except Mitchell show hesitation marks." Alvez pointed out. "That could be telling us our guy is finding his method. He's definitely more comfortable with a hammer than a knife."

"Does the Trinity Mitchell have any known surviving associations; relatives, friends, or even enemies?" Rossi asked.

"You mean other than the congregation of the church he used to serve with, and the faculty and students at the school he used to teach at?" Spence asked, and then continued to answer the question. "A few years ago it was reported that Mitchell tracked down his wife Sally and two children, son Jonah and daughter Rebecca to their safe house in Kearney Nebraska. He killed Rebecca in the same manner as the victims in his cycle that matched his victimology, and then beat his wife to death with a hockey stick before Jonah fought him off, forcing him to flee and return to hiding."

"We have Jonah in custody now, but after our initial interview we don't think he's good for the crimes. If anything, the Copycat was trying to set him up for some reason; maybe to buy some time." Emily said.

"What we do think, however," Spence added, "is that he might know the whereabouts of a more likely suspect; a man named Kyle Butler who was initially a friend of Mitchell but apparently soon became an adversary after seeing how he treated his family. According to Jonah their confrontation even got violent to the point Butler threatened to kill Mitchell."

"There's something else." Alvez announced, holding up a file from the Trinity case. He reached into it and produced two sheets; each of them a sketch. "Before they were killed Rebecca and Sally Mitchell also provided police with sketches purported to be of Kyle Butcher." He handed the sketches to Emily. "As you can see, none of the three look anything alike."

"Well," Emily suggested, "eyewitness accounts and descriptions are known to be unreliable under the best circumstances. Maybe their memories were mixed up because they were so shaken by the revelation regarding their husband and father."

"Maybe," Spence commented, "or maybe they all gave inaccurate descriptions on purpose."

JJ caught on to where Spencer was going with this line of thought. "He was helping them escape an abusive situation, so they helped him escape a legal one."

"Exactly" Spence confirmed.

"Let me see all three sketches." Rossi requested. Emily handed Rossi the sketches, and Spence pulled the one from Jonah off the Copycat board and handed it over. Rossi placed all three of them onto the nearest table and took a picture of each one individually. Then he called Garcia.

"Garcia, I'm going to send you three photos of sketches; all allegedly of the same suspect." He said, and then sent the photos. "Yes, I know they look nothing alike. I want you to take them and play mix and match their features; we're looking for as many possible combinations as you can come up with." He paused; no doubt to allow Garcia a moment with her usual cheery banter. "Thank you, Garcia." He hung up.

"What was that about?" Batista asked JJ.

"It's quite likely that each witness latched on to at least one feature or another of our suspect." JJ explained. "That means some of those features were subconsciously included in their descriptions. So our technical analyst may be able to generate an accurate composite of all three."

Lieutenant Miller entered the conference room. "State Police are setting up a roadblock on the 95." She announced. "If he comes into Miami that way, we'll get him."

Emily thanked her. Then she turned to face the team. "Rossi, you and Reid stay here and get ready to interview Morgan when we bring him in. JJ, Alvez and I will wait at the roadblock to take custody once State Police have him."

"While we're waiting, I wouldn't mind talking to Jonah." Rossi said.

"I'll set that up." Batista offered.

From his office at Elway investigations, Jacob figured out that after hurricane Laura, Arlene Shram changed her name and the names of children; actually her kid's names were the same other than their last names, but her name was changed. They also moved out of their original home and into the former residence and business of one Hannah McKay. Her new name was Heidi Marsh. With a quick check was an easy matter to confirm that Heidi Marsh had indeed taken over McKay's florist/gardener business; or at least used what was there to start her own. He had to admit that it was pretty industrious for a reformed junkie. He had an idea that she would probably claim that her name change was an attempt to disassociate herself from Hannah, but there was one gaping hole in that story; why did she take over her old friend and accomplice's house and business? If anyone alive knew where Hannah McKay was or what her plans were, it was Heidi Marsh; formerly Arlene Shram. He went into his desk drawer and took out another dose of Ketamine. He also picked up the hammer, and after a moment of contemplation he took it with him to the motor pool. He might need it. From the motor pool, he took the Jeep. It would have enough storage, and be able to handle the terrain he would be dealing with after his visit with Heidi Marsh.

Before he could decide what he was going to do, Dexter needed to know who and what he was against; especially with the news that his cover was blown, it was now known he was still alive, and that State Police had a BOLO on him. Odds were good that they were setting up a roadblock; most likely on the 95.

That covered what he was up against, more or less. The real question was who he was up against. He already knew what he needed to know about agents Rossi Jareau. From what he gathered they left Maine for Florida in order to meet with the rest of their team. He also caught that team was composed of at least three more agents: A Dr. Spencer Reid, Agent Luke Alvez, and Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. If he remembered right, there was also some other person named Garcia; as far as Dexter could discern he was some kind of technical analyst. He needed to know these Agents; he needed to know their strengths and weaknesses. If he was going to make a plan so he could survive this ordeal, the Dark and Deadly Dexter had to come out and play one more time.

It was going to cost him some time, but this was a sacrifice he had to make. _The risk of wasting time to help Astor was a lot smaller than the risk of screwing up when dealing with this many highly trained Federal Agents. If I get thrown into Prison, I will be of no use to her at all_. He opened his laptop, hoping for a good Wi-Fi signal here on the Interstate near Baltimore.

If there was a God, which Dexter still had serious doubt about; otherwise Monsters like him wouldn't exist, then they were favoring him this day. The signal was good. He accessed the FBI database and taking care to use every trick he knew to avoid being detected by this Garcia person, he began his search; starting with the technical analyst to be sure he could neutralize that threat digitally.

The very first thing that he noted was that Penelope Garcia was a she; he reprimanded himself internally for making assumptions. According to her bio, she was formerly part of a talented and dangerous group of hackers until the FBI Cyber Division finally caught up to her. Then they offered her a job with the Bureau, under the premise that it takes a hacker to catch a hacker. _The principle of hiring those you cannot beat probably also entered the equation._ From what he could see, that was the best move the Bureau could have possibly made; he knew a few tricks to avoid detection, but since it appeared she was online even as he was doing this, he'd have to be fast and careful. He also discerned that the group she belonged to appeared to be, at least on the surface, a white-hat group; exposing corruption and dismantling sites that they deemed harmful to the rights and freedoms of America. Satisfied he knew enough about her, he set up a watch on her activities before resuming his search; the next person he needed intelligence was the Unit Chief.

It was pretty easy to see why Emily Prentiss was promoted to Unit Chief after Aaron Hotchner stepped down. She was the daughter of a US diplomat named Elizabeth Prentiss; as a result much of her childhood was spent travelling the world, and she picked up several languages very quickly: Spanish, French, Italian, and Arabic. She also had a workable understanding of Russian, and knew a few words of a number of different Eastern European languages. The point here was she had no small amount of indirect political leverage through her mother; though Dexter suspected she rarely needed it. Prior to her assignment in the BAU, Emily Prentiss was Unit Chief of the London Office of Interpol. She was also instrumental in the apprehension of one Ian Doyle. That alone made her a significant threat. _She probably still has connections on a global level._ Her specialties included Linguistics, Child Advocacy, and Terrorism. Dexter found that interesting, and saw a possible way around her in the fact she clearly cared a great deal for children, even though she had none of her own; he could possibly his own care for children as means to create a degree of sympathy from her, especially in regards to his troubled childhood.

Taking a moment to monitor Garcia's activity, he saw that she had yet to detect him; it seemed she was preoccupied with something else.

 _Maybe you should see what she's up to._ Harry advised.

"I'll do that later." Dexter responded. Right now he wanted to get through what he was doing as quickly as possible. That meant as few distractions as he could manage. Next on his list to look into was SSA Dr. Spencer Reid.

Dexter was impressed with what he found. Spencer Reid is a certified genius with an IQ of 187. The fact he graduated high school in Las Vegas by the time he was 12 told Dexter he was something of an overachiever. _I can relate to that._ He also surmised that the fact Spencer had an eidetic memory probably helped. He had a workaholic attorney father and his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic who at one time was a college professor – 15th Century Literature. The good doctor's tendency to overachieve was again evident in his university career; he had PhD's in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, as well as Bachelor's degrees in Psychology and Sociology. He is clearly well versed in several other things, and has fields of expertise in what seemed on paper to be virtually everything: statistics, historical serial killers, geographic profiling, and graphology to name a few. There was also a note which stated he was a very good illusionist. _He's a regular Bill Gates, and he chose to work in the public sector. I'm not sure if I admire that or if I'm disgusted by it._ He was accepted into the Bureau at the age of 22, despite his weaknesses in anything not immediately book related. In short, for all his mental strengths, he was physically frail and socially awkward. _Given his mother's condition, he may even be unbalanced; if need be, I may be able to exploit that. Also, though he may be able to beat me at chess, if I need to, I can easily overpower him in the event I should require a hostage or something..._

That was unlikely; not if the plan he was already starting to hatch played out the way he hoped. Dexter glanced to monitor Garcia online, and once he was satisfied he wasn't spotted yet he proceeded to take a look at SSA Luke Alvez.

The first that popped out at Dexter was that Alvez appeared to be muscle-man of the team. Certainly no slouch intellectually, but it was obvious his job would be most likely about the chase and maybe kicking down a few doors. Born in the Bronx, he joined the army and became a Ranger with the 75th Regiment. After that, he joined the FBI on the Fugitive Task Force; now he was in training with BAU. _That's most likely because he was good a tracking._ Although Dexter was more than capable of holding his own in a fight, he guessed that he might want to avoid a physical confrontation with this guy; his best bet was to exploit the fact that this was a comparative rookie.

"Now it's time to take a quick peek at what Garcia is doing." Dexter said aloud as he switched his view away from profiling the profilers and focused on her current activity.

 _Face it Dex. You're fucked._ Deb said from behind him, as if she was leaning right over shoulder and looking at the same thing he was.

Garcia was looking at the three sketches the Mitchell's gave Metro years ago. Not only that, she was running a program that allowed her to mix and match the features on each sketch to create composite versions that combined all three. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was doing; she was checking to see what kind of sketch would come up under the presumption that each witness might have subconsciously included at least one accurate feature of Kyle Butler. What was worse, she had already come up no less than three possible matches; one of those three looked a lot like did back then.

The Dark Passenger inside him snapped awake. A smile crossed his lips as he immediately scrapped the plan he was starting to formulate and flash of brilliance came upon him. He logged off and shut down his computer. Next he removed the contacts and headed back to the driver seat. For years, the world believed Dexter Morgan was dead. He had managed to maintain that illusion for a long time. There was no doubt that they would be expecting him to do whatever it takes to avoid being caught. They might even be predicting that he'll run if he figures out they are on to him.

 _What's the plan, Dexter?_ Harry asked.

"The very last thing they'd ever expect," Dexter replied, starting the engine and getting the RV rolling.


	11. Chapter 11

_Miami, Florida_

David Rossi took a moment to regard Jonah Mitchell in the interrogation room through the window which served as a mirror on the other side of the monitoring chamber. The kid looked scared; much too scared to hide anything. Rossi had entertained the idea that maybe he was the copycat after all, and that the latest victim was chosen as a surrogate for his father; that would fit the mission theory, if they were to suppose the Butcher Copycat angle was all because of the splash the original Butcher made was being used as cover. It made sense; right up until Rossi got a look at the kid.

Jonah Mitchell was young, for starters; while that by itself didn't mean much, it tended to indicate the level of organization required didn't fit with what they knew about this kid. The next big factor was how scared this guy was; the UNSUB they were looking for would be cool as a cucumber under these conditions. In fact, he might even opt to say nothing at all until he could acquire legal counsel. He would be smart, and he would know legal procedure forwards and backwards. There was a chance he might be in collusion with the actual killer; and that meant he might know how to find him.

He was just about to go in when Prentiss rapped on the door before opening it. She called him out, saying that Garcia had something for them. He followed her out of the viewing room and back to the conference room. Garcia sat waiting via computer screen in Quantico.

"Now that I have you all gathered, I have something to show you." She announced. "You'll all remember that Rossi had me play mix and match features on all three of the Mitchell sketches. As much fun as that was, the results I came up with were not as much fun as I had hoped. Now before any of you ask me to get to my point I am doing that and sending you the results...now." She clicked a key in her system and the screen changed to show a number of thumbnail composite sketches even as the same images appeared on each team members PDA devices.

Reid caught it first, to nobody's surprise. "Garcia, can you zoom in on image number three, please?"

The third image filled the screen. Rossi saw what Reid was looking for right away. "You gotta be kidding me." He groaned. One by one, the rest of the team caught on in rapid succession. "Garcia, now I need you to place an image of the memorial photo of Dexter Morgan side by side with the sketch. We need to be sure we're seeing this."

The screen split into two images: One the right was the sketch, on the left was the photo. Seeing them side by side left no doubt at all; they were the same person.

"What is with this guy?" Rossi asked. "He shows up all over the place in this case. The fact that he managed to fake his own death and evade detection for as long as he did says he's super organized, highly intelligent, and definitely knows enough about police procedure to fit our profile. Not only does he knows procedure, but most likely knows exactly how to work the system, and since he was in forensics he knows exactly what we're going to be looking for. I'd almost think he was our UNSUB if he wasn't in Maine at the time of the killings."

"What was he doing masquerading as Kyle Butler for?" Reid asked, adding that detail to the board. First he put it on the Copycat board, then as an afterthought he added it to the original Butcher board as well.

"That's another question we'll have to ask him when we pick him up." Prentiss asserted. "Right now we have to get to the roadblock. Meanwhile, Rossi, I don't see how Jonah Mitchell could not know about the alias, let's see what we can find out by demonstrating that we know that."

"I'm on it." Rossi said back. "I'll need a copy of the photo and copies of the original sketches and the composite of all three. Also, I want a copy of the Stan Liddy photo- both of them."

Alvez was closest to the printer, so he was the one who got printout copies of each and handed them to Rossi. Then Rossi made his way back to the interview room while Reid began drawing lines all over each board in a pattern that made no sense to anyone other than Reid; at least it wouldn't until he was done. Meanwhile, Prentiss, JJ, and Alvez left the station for the place that the State Police set up their road block.

"Hold on a second." Garcia said from the screen; more to herself than to anyone else once everyone other than SSA Dr. Spencer Reid had left the room. He was so absorbed in his work that he only was only barely aware that Garcia was still present. "Oh, you rascal, that was well played; I almost missed you." She said after a few clicks on her keyboard. "Now where did you come from? Where did go?" More clicks, followed by a grunt of frustration.

"Is something wrong, Garcia?" Reid asked. "If you were talking to me, I'm still right here."

"What?" Garcia asked, apparently confused a moment before realizing she was still online with the team herself. "No, boy wonder, not you; it seems I picked up a ghost; albeit briefly. Whoever it was is gone now and knows a thing or two about the cyber world. I, however, know a thing or two more; I will figure out who paid me a visit and what they were doing here faster than you can name every State Capital." With that, Penelope clicked her connection off.

With a shrug, Reid went back to what he was doing. Rossi wouldn't need his help with the interview of Jonah Mitchell; Reid was beginning to think that was a dead end anyway. It was possible that the actual UNSUB was only using him as a distraction. Either way, the patterns he was picking up all seemed to have two people in any of the threads one way or another: There was that Private Eye Jacob Elway, and there was the thought to be deceased Dexter Morgan; although Morgan was in Maine when the murders took place in Florida, and that was at least 25 hours to drive, it was peculiar that he still managed to show up everywhere in this investigation; including the probability that Kyle Butler was Dexter Morgan. Now he was coming to Miami for some reason. It didn't make any sense; unless he had some attachment...

Then he saw Astor walk by the conference room and into the lab. Did Dexter have a communication link to the force in Miami? Was it possible he was advised that Astor found the latest body, and given the name of that victim? Astor was his step-daughter; records show he was really quite protective of children. Was he aware that this is not the same Arthur Mitchell that killed his wife, Astor's mother? He could be coming down to be with her. If that was the case, was he aware of her attitude towards the status of the Trinity killer, and what that might mean in regards to her emotional and mental state? Out of curiosity, he called Garcia again and asked her to see if anyone named Stan Liddy, Kyle Butler, or Dexter Morgan had taken any flights or train rides between Miami and Florida in the past month, or if any of those names appeared on any current trips. Her answer was no matches on any of those. Next Reid asked the same about greyhound bus trips. Again, there was nothing. That meant he was most likely driving, or possibly taking a boat trip. Either of those would have been time consuming and expensive for him to be the UNSUB; but it didn't eliminate the possibility that Elway might be his connection. There is mention of Jacob Elway even in Dexter's file; his sister Debra worked for Elway for about 6 months shortly after former Captain LaGuerta was shot dead, and Elway was also involved in the search for Hannah McKay after her escape; Dexter Morgan dated McKay prior to her incarceration for the murder of investigative reporter Sal Price. It seemed to Reid that both Elway and Dexter were right in the middle of this web. Reid headed for the observation room to watch the interview, after all.

By the time Jacob Elway got to the house that once belonged to Hannah McKay, Heidi Marsh was not home; her two kids were away at school, and she most likely used the time to hit the grocery store and stock up on Pop-Tarts or whatever crap it was that children liked to fill their gobs with these days. It didn't really matter, anyway; the point was that he had the place all to himself. All he had to do was get inside and wait near the door; when she came in he would dose her and then be able to get her to the cabin with no trouble. He could take her keys and lock the place up behind him. It would be hours before anybody even thought to look for her, and he might even have her back by then. He wouldn't have to worry about her snitching; she was a recovering junkie and could just as easily have gone off the wagon. If she said anything, she would risk losing her kids, the house, the business, everything. All her hard work to live right would be for nothing. Hell, if he was careful about it, he could even make it look like the greenhouse in the back was being used to grow a little Mary-Jane.

Then the idea hit him. He didn't even have to take her to the cabin; he had everything he needed right here. He could easily set up the greenhouse as an interview room. He'd have to set it up as a kill room, of course; just in case. Quietly he slipped out the front door and casually waked to his jeep parked across the street. He got the supplies he would need to make a room; the duct tape, the heavy duty plastic, a rain slicker , face shield, and of course his hammer. He was already wearing his gloves; double layered. Then he went around back, past the Aconite plants and into the greenhouse. He made quick work of clearing off a work table and covering it in plastic. He liked the dimensions of the space he had to work with; not so big that he'd have a whole lot to cover, but not too small as to hinder movement. Next he began to cover the walls and the ceiling with plastic. Once he thought was done, he inspected his work to ensure it was basically water-tight. Satisfied, he nodded and went back to the house to lay in wait in the foyer. He prepped his dose, and waited; she was bound to be home any time now.

Sergeant Detective Joe Quinn pulled out the Derby Pub, a favorite watering-hole of several of the Irish Kings and regular haunt of Mac, his Confidential Informant. It took a little work to convince Mac that he wasn't working for the Feds, but eventually Mac talked. As far as he knew, One-Shot was off on a trip to Buenos Ares. Apparently he took a job down there; and after assuring him that this wasn't in cooperation with the FBI in any way, Quinn got Mac to tell him the name of the target; it was none other than one Hannah McKay. At first Quinn could hardly believe what he was hearing; Hannah McKay had been in the wind since her escape after Dexter turned her in. According to Mac, this was also a kind of rescue mission for old One-Shot. Rumor had it that Hannah somehow kidnapped Harrison Morgan, Dexter's son.

It was bullshit, of course. One-Shot Oxford was dead and damn near turned into shark food; not that Mac needed to know that. Hannah might have made it all the way to Argentina; that was something she had talked about so it made sense. As for Harrison; that made no sense at all. If she took Dexter's kid, Dex would have had made it his mission to find her; he would not have been fucking around in Oregon and Maine. Unless he knew where she was, knew she had him, and was okay with it. Again, there was no need to divulge any of this to Mac. Once he had Mac convinced he was as dirty as a cop can be, Quinn asked who wanted MacKay taken out. Mac gave him a sly look that said he wasn't giving that up without compensation. After Quinn agreed to tip Narcotics off about a little gang that had been ripping off the Brazilians, Mac leaned in close and told it was 'that greedy bastard PI Elway.'

A big piece of the puzzle fell into place. Jacob Elway got to Oxford under pretext of having a hit for him, and dosed him in order to take him out. It was circumstantial, but it built on the lead that Jacob Elway was the Copycat Butcher. Then Mac asked him what he wanted with One-Shot anyway.

Quinn told him he might have a job. Then he made up story about how they were closing in on the Copycat Butcher, and that he wanted the sonofabitch dead before the Feds could put him some cozy cell. For flair, Quinn even produced a copy of the Jonah Mitchell sketch. Then he asked where someone would go to meet him. Mac laughed; until Quinn decided to play hardball. He reiterated that he wasn't working for or with the Feds on this one, but it was possible that the Feds could find out about this place. All Mac had to do to keep that from happening was tell him how to reach One-Shot; then this whole thing stays between the two of them. Finally Mac jotted down some longitude and latitude coordinates and slid the piece of paper across the table at him. Quinn took the paper and dropped a roll of bills onto the table as he got up to leave. Quinn had a hunch; he figured Elway was the Copycat, and was using One-Shot's cabin in the Everglades as a hideout or even a kill room. It sort of surprised him that Mac didn't know Alex Oxford was dead, but he wasn't about to let such a golden opportunity get away from him. He liked that Prentiss gal; liked her a lot, but this was something that could make his career. Also, there were just too many things in this case that got them too close to Dexter.

 _I might not like him much, he's a creep if I ever met one; but he's as close to a dad that Astor and Cody ever had, and Deb thought the world of him. Not only that, but more than once that creep saved my ass. I owe him_.

The coordinates he got looked like they'd be in the Everglades. Now Quinn just had to make sure he was going to the right place. A simple check in his cubicle at Miami Metro would do the trick.

His phone rang. It was Batista.

"This is Quinn. Thrill me."

"I just wanted to give a heads up." Batista replied. "One of the Feds is going in right now to interrogate the Mitchell kid."

"What the fuck!" Quinn exclaimed. "No fuckin' way! That kid is my witness! What happened to not imposing themselves on our investigation?"

"Cool your jets, Sergeant." The Captain warned. "With all the bullshit in Maine connected to this case, the Feds can and probably will call jurisdiction. Besides, they now think that Kyle Butler was an alias that Dexter may have used to get close to Trinity back in the day."

For just one beat, Quinn's heart stopped. In the weeks that followed the death of Rita Morgan, Quinn was sure Dexter was in the middle of it; hell, he thought Dexter was a viable suspect. At one point, he mix and matched the Mitchell sketches and came up with a likeness of their resident lab rat. He even got a hold of a picture of Dex and showed it to Jonah. For a second, Jonah looked like he recognized the photo. He was right back then; not about Rita, but Kyle Butler was Dexter Morgan, and Jonah covered for him. Now the Feds figured out what he figured out years ago and dropped. The Feds were going to run with it. Maybe that was why Trinity killed Rita; to punish Dexter, or make him back off.

"Why the hell would he do that? Why would he approach a lunatic like Trinity under a fake name?" Quinn asked.

"You know Dexter used to like to lay cop once in awhile." Batista suggested. "Maybe he was planning on confirming his suspicions and passing his info off to Deb."

That was true; Dexter did like to pretend at being a detective instead of just a lab geek once in awhile. It was also his habit to pass off whatever found to his sister when she was alive. Thing was, he was actually pretty good at it, so Deb had herself a secret weapon in the form of her brother. "Fine," he said finally. "I'm on way in to check on what my CI just told me. Can you let me know what they get out of him?"

"Sure." Batista said mildly. "I'll do that. It's bound to be good; it's that guy you went to that seminar for awhile back."

"That's great," Quinn said. "Thanks." Then he hung up. Batista was right, of course, if Jonah Mitchell knew any more than he already let on, David Rossi was the guy who could get it out of him.

"I don't know what more you think I can tell you." Jonah Mitchell said as Senior SSA David Rossi entered the room. "I already told you everything I know about Kyle Butler."

"We'll see about that." Rossi replied. "You never know what comes back to you." He sat at the table opposite Jonah and put the sketch of 'Kyle Butler' that he provided down in front of him. "Is that the way you remember Kyle Butler looking the last you saw him?" He asked.

"Yes," Jonah said. "That's Kyle Butler, but I have no idea where he is or if he's even still alive."

"Oh, he's alive; I can assure you of that." Rossi said. One by one, he placed the other two Mitchell depictions down in front of Jonah. "What about these two people? Do you recognize them?"

"No," Jonah replied, barely giving either sketches a glance. That told Rossi a lot; it meant that Jonah knew exactly what those sketches were and where they came from. It also meant that that he knew damn well that all three descriptions were bogus, and to look for any one of them would be like chasing a ghost.

"Tell me; how do you know if you recognize them or not? You barely even looked at the sketches. Take a closer look, Jonah." Dave insisted. He waited a beat, and then pressed on. "Oh, wait, you don't have to look at them, because you already know that none of them exist, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Rossi countered. "The man you identify as Kyle Butler was trying to help you and your family get away from your abusive, sociopathic father, so you and your family tried to help him evade police detection; especially after you learned that 'Kyle Butler' was really this man." He tossed down the composite sketch that resembled Dexter Morgan, aka Stan Liddy. The manner in which Jonah blinked and swallowed at the site of the new sketch told him he was on the mark; Dexter Morgan was indeed Kyle Morgan. "You recognize him, don't you, Jonah?" Rossi asked. "Or maybe an actual photograph will make it clearer," he placed the older photo of Dexter in front of him.

"Of course I recognize him." Jonah said quietly. "That's Dexter Morgan. He's the husband of that last woman my dad killed. He died in hurricane Laura; I remember that being in the news."

Rossi tossed the real Stan Liddy image onto the table. "You may or may not know this guy." Rossi began. "This is –or was- Stan Liddy. He was a Narcotics agent for Miami Metro Police. Up until a few minutes ago we thought he was retired and living a simple life in Ogunquit; we also thought he was the guy who reported the first bodies of the Copycat Butcher victims."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Jonah asked; Dave couldn't be sure, but he sensed that the kid might be genuinely confused. That could mean he didn't know anything, or it might just mean he was not aware of the new alias Dexter was using. Rossi flipped the photo of Dexter as he looked when he and JJ met him in Maine. Jonah took a second to look at the photo, and then picked it up along with the Dexter photo. As he examined both side by side his expression became one of surprise, confusion, and shock.

"You see the resemblance." Rossi said. "Here's the thing; it was just a few minutes ago that we discovered that Dexter Morgan is alive and well, living under the name of Stan Liddy, retired Narcotics officer. What we want to know is, why?"

"How do I know that?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" Rossi offered. "By any chance you wouldn't have had any other run ins with Dexter?"

"I swear to God, Agent Rossi; I had no idea that Dexter was still alive." Jonah said.

"That's not what I asked, Jonah. I asked if you had any contact with Dexter between the time you knew him as Kyle Butler and now."

Jonah opened his mouth, took a deep breath and finally answered. "Yes, once." He confessed. "It was in Kearny, Nebraska right after dad killed Becca and my mom."

"Why did he visit you then?"

"I'm not sure." Jonah replied. "He said he wanted to see if I was alright. I think he might have thought we had common ground since we both lost loved ones to my dad. I remember asking him why he did the whole the Butler thing. He said he was trying to play cop and be the guy who captured Trinity."

According to what Rossi saw on Dexter's file that seemed plausible. Apparently the lab rat known as Dexter Morgan was known to pry into cases and then pass on information to his sister. Dave saw no reason to think the kid was lying about that. Still, he wanted to play it out a little more.

"That's pretty reckless, don't you think?" He asked.

"I think Dexter's actual wording for his actions was stupid." Jonah replied.

"When he showed up in Kearny, was he by any chance still looking to capture your dad?"

"I don't think so." Jonah answered. "It was a Federal case by then, and I'm quite sure he was too rattled by what dad did to his wife. I got the impression he was just looking for someone that could understand what he was going through."

"And you haven't seen him since?" Rossi asked. "You haven't had any contact with him at all. Is that what you're telling me?"

"No sir," Jonah replied. "I mean, yes sir that is what I'm telling you. Like I said, I thought he was dead until you just told me he was alive."

"Why should I believe you?" Rossi asked. "I already caught you in one lie today, what makes you think I should trust anything you say now?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth" Jonah answered. That was the right answer. Any other response would be an indicator of deception or justification on some level or another. Of course, there was a chance a kid as smart as Jonah Mitchell was might know that. Still, there was no actionable evidence, and therefore no real reason to keep him here. Based on what he was told prior to this interview, Sergeant Quinn intended to cut the kid loose and then have him watched to see if he can lead them to Kyle. While that seemed unlikely now, it was still a good idea; it made for due diligence.

He left the interview room to find that Reid, Captain Batista, and Sergeant Quinn were in the observation room, watching as a guard took Jonah out. After a brief discussion, Quinn left to process the kid out as planned.

"There's one thing in that interview that bothers me." Reid commented once Quinn was out of the room. "At one point Jonah identified Rita Morgan as his father's final victim, and then later said he also killed his sister and his mother. Becca and Sally Mitchell were killed over a year after Rita. While it is possible he just got mixed up on the chronology, but that level of time dysphasia typically only presents in people suffering psychotic delusions or have spent extended lengths of time in isolation. Since Jonah has been in the company of WITPRO agents and been living an otherwise normal life that doesn't seem likely. I'm wondering if he has exhibited any signs of psychosis, or could be hiding something from us still."

"All the more reason to keep our unis on him for awhile," the Captain suggested. "Oh, when and if Dex gets brought in, if you don't mind I want to be in here when you two interview him. I realize you might think it's a conflict of interest, but this is my department, and it's related to case I'm leading on."

"That's fine." Rossi agreed. He turned to Reid. "Would I be wrong to guess that you have a small novel of fine details you'd want to review with this lab technician?"

"No, you wouldn't..."

"Great," Rossi said before the Doctor could begin his thesis on the case so far. "Let's you and I go back to the conference room and work out our strategy."

Even as Rossi was finishing up his interview with Jonah, Jacob Elway was finishing up his interview with Heidi Marsh, aka Arlene Shram. To be more precise, he was finishing up striking his set and cleaning up after himself. During the course of his interview, he realized it was Saturday, and learned the kids were up in Orlando with Gram and Gramps. It was perfect. It wouldn't be until at least tomorrow afternoon before anyone even noticed that mommy was missing. That gave him lots of time to cover all his tracks, and buy himself more time if he needed it.

The interview itself yielded much; as far as Heidi knew, her old friend was still in Argentina. She didn't even bother to try to deny they were still in contact; s it turned out she was still holding on to a rather large portion of Hannah's emergency fund, and part of the reason she got the flower shop-house was to make sure Hannah and Harrison would have a refuge in the States if they ever needed it. That meant the girls had to stay in touch; maybe regular check ins. When 'Heidi' started missing hers, Hannah would have to investigate. Sooner or later, she'd have to come Stateside to see for herself. She may even try for revenge. It wasn't exactly the plan Jacob had in mind, but it was a completely satisfactory contingency. In fact, he sort of kicked his own ass for not thinking of tracking down Arlene Shram in the first place. It would have been so much simpler and cleaner.

With the clean up done, all that was left was disposal. Jacob took the bag with Heidi in it and took it to the shop's compost heap at the far end of the yard. He found a shovel and buried Heidi under the rotting clippings. It seemed somehow fitting that a junkie be buried this way. Next he went back into the house. He thought about staging a burglary, but then thought better of it. Burglary wasn't Dexter's style, so it wouldn't be his, either. The cops and Feds had no idea that Dexter was the original Butcher, and they didn't need to know. They also put a squash on the notion that the original was back, but it wasn't so much the cops, the Feds, or even the media that he was trying to convince; the only one he had to convince that the original Bay Harbor Butcher was back in town was the only other living person who knew the truth. That was Hannah McKay. Jacob had no doubt Dexter knew about the money stash. He would take it, and then Hannah would have no choice but to come to Miami to at least verify that Dexter survived, killed her only friend, and stole all her money. There was a risk she would take her fury out on Harrison, but that didn't seem likely; she seemed to genuinely care about the brat last time their paths crossed. Without disturbing a thing, he found the stash of cash – at least ¼ million – and extracted it. Taking care to lock up behind him, he left the house. He first put the money in jeep, and then used the keys he took from Arlene to move her shitheap of a car. He had just the place in mind to ditch it, and then catch a bus back to three blocks from where he parked the jeep.

While Jacob Elway was cleaning up after himself, Prentiss, Alvez, and JJ were on their way to where the State Police had set their road block on the I 95. Initially, Alvez presumed they would try to disguise their intent with a drinking and driving test, but they didn't do that. Instead, they went ahead and made it all about stopping a person of interest matching a specific description. That was good; a guy as smart as Dexter Morgan would almost certainly see through the ruse and find a way to avoid it long before he even reached it. Of course, they could and would have to watch for exactly that; folks turning off the Interstate at the first sight of the block.

"That was Garcia," JJ said after hanging up her phone. "Just after we left to join this intercept she noticed someone in her network. She said she almost missed whoever it was completely."

"That's a scary thought." Prentiss commented.

"Right?" JJ said back. "Anyway, she also said it was nearly impossible to locate whoever it was, or what they were looking at. She did manage to figure out it came from the 95, near Baltimore."

"Did she find out what they were looking at?" Alvez asked. He guessed the answer to that would be yes, and he had an idea what they might be looking at; if it was their guy, he would want to know what he was coming in to so he could formulate some kind of strategy to do whatever it was he was coming to do. He could also take a guess what that would be. Dexter was, on top of being a very talented forensics technician, a family man. With a serial killer on the loose in his home town, he would want to come back and make sure Astor and Cody were safe.

"Yes, she did." JJ answered. "They accessed our files; everyone in the unit."

"It has to be our guy." Alvez said.

"He's profiling us." Prentiss agreed. "He's most likely trying to find a way to either evade us or to work us into his plan. Whatever that might be; I'm not sure he'll even actually come here now, not if he knows we're on to him."

"He's coming." Alvez assured them. "Think about it; he's a forensics technician no matter how long he's been off the force, and he's a family man no matter how long he's been in the wind. Now there's a serial killer on the loose in his home town."

"He's coming back to make sure Astor and Cody are safe." JJ blurted. Alvez was counting on JJ catching on quickly; her being a mother, her paternal instinct was bound to kick in.

"And he's smart, so he'll probably guess we'll have every access point watched. My guess is he's going to drive in; either hoping he can disguise himself well enough to get past us, or maybe even want us to spot him so he can get to his kids that much quicker."

"By cutting away traffic with a police escort," Prentiss finished his thought. "Where exactly is the block?"

"Just this side of Daytona Beach" Alvez answered. That was a good thing; it meant that Dexter might think he's gotten into the state without a problem. After that, he might think he's in the clear and then make a mistake. This way, whether he meant to be intercepted or not, they had him, unless he started taking back roads; but Alvez didn't think he would. Dexter wanted an escort; it was the most efficient way to get to Astor and Cody.

"Good," Prentiss said. "We'll be there soon."


	12. Chapter 12

_The Everglades_

The first thing Sergeant Detective Joe Quinn noticed about the Oxford hideout upon entering was the smell; not only because it was so overwhelming, but probably even more since it was not what he was expecting. In fact, the fact that what he smelled was the exact opposite of what he expected was what made it so overwhelming. The place was just way too clean; it had that bathed in bleach stink of a public washroom. He didn't need any lab geek or Federal think tank to tell what that meant. A place this clean had to have some shady business going on in it. The problem was obvious; there wasn't likely going to be any way to prove anything. While on purely circumstantial level that would fit with Elway being their guy, it didn't change a thing as far as evidence went. If it was Elway, he cleaned up well.

Right after watching the interview with the bean-pole and Batista, Quinn processed Jonah out. It was pretty clear that Jonah was in the dark about Dexter still being alive; the chances of him having anything to do with the copycat were almost none. Still, Rossi was right to put a watch on him just in case. After that, he got back to his desk and checked the coordinates his CI gave him; sure enough it was in the Everglades. The satellite photos of the region didn't show anything but trees, but that didn't mean much. Oxford was a pro; he probably camouflaged any dwelling that he might have been using out there. He would have to check it out in person. With the Feds preoccupied with Dex he could easily slip out, take a look around and see what was there before anyone knew where he was.

And now here he was; in a well hidden cabin in the woods that was given the cleaning of all cleanings so there would be no forensic evidence. Quinn wasn't ready to give up just yet. There still might be something of use here; maybe Elway or whoever was using this place may have left something else behind. The cabin itself was a fairly simple design; a living area with a kitchen attached, and a functional and working washroom to one side of the main area, a bedroom to other side. After a rushed yet thorough search of the living area, the only thing he found that might prove useful was a laptop computer; which he took to get Astor to look at later. There was a possibility the user's searches and browsing would yield something worthwhile. The kitchen was a little better; under the sink he found a large supply of trash bags. Also in the kitchen, right on the kitchen table was a machete, sparkling clean to the eye. The bags were likely the same grade as used by the copycat, and Quinn had been around long enough to know the lab geeks might even be able to determine if they were the same batch number or lot number or whatever they called it. A Machete, Quinn recalled, was what the Copycat Butcher was using to dismember his victims. The one on the table looked spotless, but there was always a chance that a spot was missed; like maybe on the shank of the blade or along the tang in the handle. More than that, if this was the same blade used in the murders, tool marks would match up with those on the bodies.

Next he moved on to the washroom. Other than a large steel door on one end, the only thing worth noting about it was that the bleach smell was especially powerful here. He eyed the door for moment before trying it. It was locked, of course. He could pick it, but that would be time consuming. Quinn figured that whoever was using this place probably had the key on them, so with a muttered curse he left the bathroom and crossed the cabin to the bedroom.

The bleach smell was not as strong here; Quinn guessed that was probably because the victims never came near this room. The room was obsessively clean; that meant that either Oxford or whoever was using the cabin now might be a little bit OCD. From what he had gathered so far, Quinn felt in his gut that this was the Copycat's base of operations; the problem was that so far he had nothing that connected Elway or anybody directly to it. All he had was a CI who gave him the location, and that same CI telling him that Elway was looking for One-Shot Oxford. He supposed Astor might be able to determine who was using the laptop, but even that was weak. In the bedroom, there was a footlocker at the foot of the bed, which was fresh as a five-star hotel's bed. The locker was locked, of course, but the key to it was resting right on top of it. Using the key, he opened it up.

There was a loaded .45 and a few full clips on top of what looked like a bunch of files. He carefully removed the weapon and the clips, making sure not to get his prints on them; they may have the perps' prints. Next he started leafing through the files. It took all of three seconds to determine that this was indeed where their Copycat Butcher was hiding out and doing whatever research he needed to do. He was also keeping record of what he had already done; several of the files were of news clippings of the recent murders; including the discovery of the bodies in Maine. In that article, none of the victims were identified yet, and Quinn already knew that Alex Oxford's name hadn't been released to the public. That explained why his CI wasn't aware that One-Shot was dead. There were also extensive files on each of the victims, including a case file on both Norman Grant and Nadine Michaelsen.

"This is it." Quinn whispered. "I got you Elway, you son of a bitch."

Then he saw them; four more files. The first one was on Hannah McKay. On the presumption that these were Elway's files, that came as no surprise. Jacob Elway was, after her escape, basically obsessed with being the one who caught her again. The second, and largest, file was on Dr. Evelyn Voegel. He set that aside for a minute and moved on to the third file, which was the smallest. That one was on Jonah Mitchell, aka Mitchell Jones. It was small, but thorough; his current address, which happened to be Deb's former address, was noted. There was a brief account of his family, the killings in Kearney, and his medical history. Mentioned in the medical history were a few sessions with Dr. Evelyn Voegel. That stunned Quinn. Voegel was a shrink that specialized in Psychopaths. Why would Jonah be seeing her? It was too damn bad that he couldn't grill the doctor, since she was murdered by Oliver Saxon, the Brain Surgeon. The last file was on Dexter Morgan. That file, while extensive, wasn't particularly interesting except that whoever was formulating it seemed pretty damn sure that Dex was the original Bay Harbor Butcher. It was odd how that kept coming up. The creator of this file was also convinced that Poindexter was dead, so that wasn't really much to worry about.

Next Quinn began to peruse through Dr. Voegel's file.

"Fuck me in both of my ever-fucking eyes." He said quietly, as if he was channelling Deb as his perusal was drawn into sections that the suspect had highlighted with a bright yellow marker. That made it pretty easy to see what his suspect was looking at in this file.

For him, a small part of this was actually like a review; Oliver Saxon, 'the Brain Surgeon' as Masuka dubbed him, was really Daniel Voegel, Dr. Evelyn Voegel's son. When he was young, he killed his brother by drowning. Evelyn had him committed, and took a vested interest in psychopaths shortly after. It was after that that she would later become known as the Psychopath Whisperer. A lot of that was sussed out by Deb; Quinn didn't know if Dex played a hand in her figuring all that out, but history in previous cases would suggest that that was the case. In addition, Dexter and Evelyn developed what everyone thought was a close professional relationship then, so that could have been a factor. If only their relationship was what it seemed. The rest of what he was reading he was having a hard time believing.

According to Voegel – the doctor, not her son – Dexter Morgan was in fact the original Bay Harbor Butcher. Not only was he was the Butcher, but Dr. Voegel knew that all along, because she actually helped him become what he is. Granted, her role was indirect; Officer Harry Morgan, his adoptive father and Deb's biological dad, was directly responsible for Dexter's training. That training and conditioning was all about directing Dexter's urges to a specific target; that being murderers. Given what happened to his biological mom that was probably easy enough. It was also about making sure he had some kind of code to live by, which was apparently designed to prevent him from getting caught. Considering Harry was a cop, he would know what cops look for in an investigation. Considering also that Poindexter was a forensics geek working for the cops, it would be easy to either manipulate or 'interpret' evidence however he wanted. In this manner, Quinn guessed, Voegel and Harry probably hoped to use Dexter's psychosis for some kind of good; kind of like turning him into a failsafe for the system that prevents scumbags from getting away with anything.

"You dirty motherfucker." Quinn said as if Dex was there in the room. "I knew everyone, even you, had some shit on them; you're just really good at getting away with it. I respect that."

The really fucked up part was that he sort of understood and even appreciated what Harry and Voegel tried to do. Maybe that was because he understood that the system wasn't perfect, and sometimes you had to put the rules and protocols on the shelf to get the job done.

There was more. Apparently, amongst Dr. Voegel's certifiable who's who list of patients and clients was one Jonah Mitchell. Her summaries of her sessions with Jonah were really quite telling; not the least significant revelation was Jonah's claim that his father Arthur Mitchell, aka the Trinity Killer, was in fact long dead. According to Jonah, it was Dexter Morgan, now revealed as the real Butcher, who killed him, right around the same time that Trinity killed Rita Morgan, Dexter's wife. Apparently Dexter admitted to this fact during his visit in Kearney, Nebraska. For Joey Quinn, a certain card kind of fell into place; Dexter was probably scouting Trinity under the alias of Kyle Butler, and Trinity got wise to him. Another truth was revealed in Voegel's notes; that it was Jonah, not Arthur, who killed Sally Mitchell. Apparently Rebecca, Jonah's sister actually committed suicide, and in a fit of uncontrollable rage Jonah killed his mother and then made it look like Arthur did it. This was before he knew the truth about his father's death. After a few sessions, Dr. Voegel concluded his Jonah was an isolated incident and saw no need to advise authorities; Jonah's own remorse over the issue was enough. To Detective Quinn's mind that was bullshit; Jonah should pay for his crime; even if it was reduced sentence.

Then came the real bombshell; Deb apparently knew about all of this. More than anything else that was in the file, this was what Joey found nearly impossible to believe. As far as he was concerned, if there ever was such a thing as a completely clean cop, it was Debra Morgan. He knew she was seeing Dr. Voegel; but that was to settle some fucked up dispute between her and her brother (Dex was spending a lot of time around the doctor at the time). That was during her tenure with Elway Investigations, shortly after Captain LaGuerta was shot.

Then the dime dropped. He remembered that one time that Deb, pissed out of her mind, tried to confess that she was the one who killed LaGuerta. At the time Quinn figured it was guilt for not being able to stop it; that kind of guilt hits cops all the time – especially good cops. The notes said she indicated she shot the former Captain in order to protect Dexter, and then went into detail about how the two of them tampered with the scene to make it look like LaGuerta and that scumbag dealer that killed Dexter's biological mother shot each other. At the time, LaGuerta was trying to prove Dexter set Doakes up. Maybe she got close to doing just that. He also remembered just how fucked up Deb was around that time.

"No wonder she went off the rails like she did." Quinn said to himself. "Deb was way too honest for that kind of shit."

There were also a few cursory notes on how Deb was trying to help Dexter get out of the country with his son Harrison and with Hanna McKay.

In the margins of the last relevant page, there was a hand-written comment, which Sergeant Quinn presumed was their suspect. It said that he – presuming it was Elway – already knew about that, and that that was the whole point. Quinn tapped the page with the comment on it. It was no secret that Jacob Elway had the stiffest hard on in the universe when it came to being the one to catch Hanna McKay. Was this his hand writing? To find out, he'd need a confirmed sample of Elway's writing, and an expert to do an analysis and comparison. It might not be enough to make an arrest, but it was probably enough for probable cause to investigate farther. Quinn packed up the shit he'd found and got back to his car. Once he was done collecting what he'd found, his phone rang.

"This is Quinn. Thrill me." He answered without looking at the display.

"We've got another body." Batista declared. "We're pretty sure it's our guy."

"This guy's picking up the pace!" Quinn replied. "The Feds have got to be getting hot for this son of a bitch. Where are you?"

Batista gave him the address. Quinn could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was the former address of Hannah McKay. Now he was certain that it was Elway, and that this had something to do with her. The Feds said their UNSUB or whatever was probably on a mission; getting to Hannah had to be it.

"I'm on my way." He said. Oh, by the way, that lead I was following up through my CI? I think there might be something to it that can break this case."

"What've you got?"

"I'll explain later. But I'm gonna need Astor for some technical analysis for part of it, and probably a hand writing expert."

"Our UNSUB is devolving," Rossi observed. "He's no longer bothering to go through his disposal part of his method."

"This is also the second time he's used a hammer for the kill." Masuka pointed out. "It's hard to tell, but my first impression is there are no hesitation marks."

Without even thinking about it, Astor turned to Dr. Reid. "Are we looking at a possible signature?" She asked. They were at the crime scene, and Batista just said that Uncle Joey would be there soon. Both the Captain and Masuka were acting a little weird about being here; apparently this place was once owned by Hannah McKay, the escaped convict suspected of kidnapping Harrison after she escaped for revenge against Dexter for turning her in.

"That's entirely possible," Dr. Reid acknowledged. "It also reveals a lot about his behavior. The lack of sexual assault says this is more likely a part of his mission, and the fact the last two were bludgeoned suggests these are a lot more personal than the previous murders. It is likely that this is either the final target or at least someone close to the objective."

"So once we confirm the identity of the victim, we can probably get a bead on what connection she has to this Kyle Butler guy." Shaw suggested.

"To do that, I'm going to have to get her back to the lab." Masuka said. "This guy really did a number on this one; there's literally nothing left of her face. Even all of her teeth are smashed to shit. Given how clean the rest of the place is, my guess is that this is another dumpsite."

"Not necessarily," Reid countered. "There's plenty of room right here on the property, and lots of relatively small rooms and spaces that could easily be covered with plastic to minimize the mess to make for a quick clean up. Years after the original Butcher case, several roles of plastic sheeting were found where James Doakes store his boat." He turned his attention to Astor. "By any chance were able to find anything else out about her?"

For a fraction of a second, Astor's heart fluttered. He was actually talking to her about a case! Right after the body she found was identified, they talked briefly outside the precinct, but this was different; now Dr. Spencer Reid was actually coming to her on a work related thing. "Uh, yeaa..." she stammered, feeling like a total dweeb. She took a second to compose herself. "Yes," she said, "I confirmed that Heidi Marsh is indeed the resident of this house and that she has two children and that she runs a flower and garden business out of this address. I also learned that Heidi Marsh is not her given name. About two years ago Arlene Shram changed her name to Heidi Marsh. I couldn't determine a specific reason why."

"Did you just say Arlene Shram?" Batista asked.

"That's right," Astor confirmed. She heard Masuka say something foul behind her as she looked over at the Captain. "Why do you ask?"

"Arlene Shram was a long time friend of Hannah McKay, and is suspected of being an on again off again accomplice in some of her crimes; including the poisoning death of a summer camp counsellor when they were teenagers." Dr. Reid explained. Astor was once again amazed at the encyclopedic memory of the man. Her own memory was good, but his was...fascinating.

Just then Uncle Joey came marching around the corner of the house towards the scene.

"What've we got here?" He asked after brief greetings were made.

Batista gave him a run-down of what they had just discussed.

"Wait; did you just say that Heidi Marsh is really Arlene Shram?" Uncle Joey asked for confirmation. He, Masuka, and Batista exchanged glances. Dr. Reid confirmed that he was right.

"We gotta get her to the lab and confirm her identity." He said, pointing at the body. "Remember that lead I said I was following up through my CI? I think it might have some weight to it. If this is Arlene Shram, we might be able to forget about both Jonah Mitchell and Dexter."

"Let me ask you." Dr. Reid interjected. Astor observed that even his awkward attempt at etiquette was really rather endearing. "What makes you say that?"

"If that's Arlene Shram, then there's a damn good chance I know who the copycat is. At the very least we'll have a much better suspect; one that fits your Profile thing a lot better than some hypothetical dude whom all we have for is a sketch."

"What've you got?" Batista asked.

"I'll show you back at the precinct." Uncle Joey suggested they finish what they were doing there and get back as quick as possible. Then he pulled Astor aside; he wanted to ask her a 'techie' question. Astor let him lead her back to his Camaro. On the way, the song by the Dead Milkmen got caught in her head. Once there, he opened the trunk and pulled out a laptop and handed it to her.

"I'm going to need this checked out." He said. I want to be able to confirm who actually owns the damn thing. Can you do that?"

"No problem," she said, taking the computer.

"Thank you." He said. "One more thing; do you know the best hand-writing analyst available to us right now? I got a sample of writing that might belong to a suspect. I just need to find a comparison sample to be sure."

In spite of herself, Astor couldn't help but grin slyly. She had a clear impression that Uncle Joey wasn't the biggest fan of the Federal Agents, and that included Dr. Reid; her answer was ging to make him cringe.

"That would be Dr. Reid." She answered. As she predicted, Uncle Joey cringed. Even though she knew it wasn't 'nice', part of her kind of enjoyed that; she supposed it was a little bit like a girl picking a suitor she knows will aggravate her paternal figures simply to aggravate them.

"That's fine." He muttered, and then cleared his throat to make it as if he had something caught there. _He probably did; a lump of discomfort._ "I'll have to do some digging, but I'm pretty sure I can find a sample to compare. I'll get it to the beanpole... the Doctor as soon as I can." Then he produced a small pocketknife from his pocket and pulled out a sheet with some writing on it. Some of it was printed, and some of it handwritten. He cut off the handwritten parts, which he kept, and then put the printed paper back into his trunk. Specifically, he placed at the back of a rather thick file; Astor caught that the file was marked DR EVELYN VOEGEL.

Astor knew what that meant; that meant that, assuming Uncle Joey actually read the file, he knew what she and Officer Harry Morgan did to Dexter. A little while ago, while she was helping Uncle Joey set up a new identity for Dexter, she found an old backup file of Voegel's; in it she saw everything there was that she had on him. Astor knew about what happened to his mom and brother. She knew that Harry, who was Aunt Deb's real dad, adopted Dexter and later discovered Dexter's psychopathic tendencies; he noticed them early on, in fact. She knew that, in a misguided attempt to protect Dexter, Harry and Voegel basically trained him to be a perfect killing machine. She knew about the Code, and she knew that Dexter was the real Bay Harbor Butcher. She also knew about Hannah and Harrison.

After reading that, pretty much everything made sense; she understood why Dexter was always leaving the house at weird hours and always lying about where he went; he was going out and being the Butcher. She understood why it seemed like he didn't care when mom got killed, and saw it wasn't really his fault; it was just the way his brain was wired. At least, that was what Voegel thought. Astor was sure Voegel was wrong about that; she truly believed that Dexter did care; maybe he even cared too much. She was convinced he was just trying to be strong for her, Cody, and Harrison. Astor had no doubt that Dexter was really so angry at Arthur Mitchell for killing Mom that he didn't even know how to process it; and that was Voegel and Harry's fault. All Dexter knew to do was track down and kill Trinity, and that was because of what he was taught ever since he was only a little older than she was when he and mom first met. The notes even said that Trinity was indeed dead. Astor never let on that she knew; that could reveal that Dexter did it. Besides, it made no difference to her if Trinity died in an electric chair or was chopped into a million pieces on a butcher block. She was just glad he was dead. If anything, it was better that Dexter got him; that seemed more right to her somehow.


	13. Chapter 13

_Approaching Florida_

 _"What in the holy fuck are you doing, Dex?"_ Debra asked. _"I thought you faked your death and ditched Harrison and Hannah to get away from all this fucking bullshit!"_

"I did." Dexter replied with a kind of serenity that even he found a little disturbing. "I'm not going back for me. I'm going back to check on Astor and Cody."

 _"I get that,"_ Deb shot back. _"But now you're driving straight into the state on the interstate. You have to know that the fuckin' Staties are going to have a roadblock up; or at the very least that band of Federal assholes are going to be waiting for you. Are you trying to get your crazy ass caught?"_

"Think of it as if I was turning myself in, if that helps." Dexter said. "This is the most direct way to get to Astor. I think of it as a way to say that I've nothing to hide. I got word that Arthur Mitchell was dead, so I had no reason to stay off the grid anymore."

 _"That's pretty thin, son."_ Harry chimed in. _"These Federal Agents are trained experts in picking out deception; something as weak as that won't likely hold up to their level of scrutiny."_

"That's exactly why it will hold up." Dexter countered. They will think a claim that flimsy has to be the truth. I managed to evade detection this long for a reason; clearly I could come up with a better lie than that if I was trying to deceive them."

 _"That's the stupidest fuckin' thing I've ever heard."_ Deb argued. _That shit might fool Batista or even Joey because they'll want to believe you, but you're planning on spinning that line of crap on the Feds? Really, Dex, you've gone way farther over the fuckin' edge than I thought."_

"Joey will probably know better." Dexter retorted. "He's the one who told me about Astor, remember? He'll play it like he does believe me, and you know as well as I do that he has ways to convince Angel. Like I said, because the claim is so weak the Feds will be inclined to believe it. They will be so confident in their abilities to predict behavior they will be expecting a much better lie to be my claim. Something like this could only be honest."

 _"Counting on their hubris is a big gamble, Dexter."_ Harry warned. _"There's another factor which you've overlooked; how do you explain going into hiding to Astor and Cody?"_

"First thing, you trained me how to navigate any interrogation. Second, based on what Joey has told me, Astor is likely bright enough to understand my reasons. She'll be angry at first but will get over it. As for Cody; he'll be pissed off that I lied, but that anger will be overshadowed by how happy he is that I'm alive."

Debra scoffed. _"Now who's got the fuckin' hubris?"_ She muttered.

The vehicle fell silent as Dexter crossed the State line. He flipped on the radio and tuned it to a news station so he could catch up on what was going on in the immediate area. 

_Miami, Florida_

After the Metro Police Forensics Investigator Vincent Masuka was able to confirm without a doubt that the latest victim was indeed Arlene Shram, and then confirm the new name of Heidi Marsh, Dr. Spencer Reid added her name to the Copycat board as the latest murder, which was actually called in by anonymous tip. Once again, the name connected to Dexter Morgan, as she was a friend of Hannah McKay, the former owner of the house. Hannah was the killer that Morgan turned in; and then she escaped during her trial. There was another reason that Hannah was relevant to this, but Spencer couldn't quite place what it was; not yet anyway. There was the obvious, of course; the Private Investigator Jacob Elway kept popping into the case – or his name did, anyway. He was apparently involved in investigations with several of the victims, and through one of those investigations they came up with Mitchell Jones, which was an alias for Jonah Mitchell. Now they had two more aliases going on; Heidi Marsh and Stan Liddy – presumably Dexter had used several aliases in order to hide the fact he was still alive...

"Aliases and connections are everywhere her." He said to himself. "Is anybody in Miami who they say they are?"

He continued to study both boards; but his attention kept floating back to the relations to Hannah McKay. Why he couldn't quite discern; it was like there was something right in front of his face but he couldn't see it. Yes, based on the picture of her on the board she was quite attractive; she looked a little bit like JJ, in fact, but that wasn't it. He just knew there was something important. She was connected to all of this somehow. He looked at the names of the victims:  
Hector Corazon  
Alex Oxford  
Norman Grant  
Nadine Michaelsen  
Arthur Mitchell  
Arlene Shram (aka Heidi Marsh)

As he took a sip of the cup of coffee he picked up from the truck outside on his way in, he nearly spit it out all over the board when it hit him what he was looking at. He set the cup down, picked up a dry-erase marker, and removed Arlene Shram from the board. Then he replaced it with the name that she last known as. Now the list read:  
Hector Corazon  
Alex Oxford  
Norman Grant  
Nadine Michaelsen  
Arthur Mitchell  
Heidi Marsh.

Now the anagram was obvious. The first initial of each victim's names was what he was seeing but not perceiving. Now that it was so blatantly in front of him, the association with Hannah McKay was almost impossible to ignore. It was entirely possible that Hannah McKay was the objective of the UNSUBS' mission; the previous victims could have been selected not just because their past fit into the Butcher pattern, but for the names. Probability suggested this secondary factor was most likely a subconscious choice; that the UNSUB was not even aware this pattern which may be revealing his true and final target. While Captain Batista was notifying next of kin and Rossi was prepping the interview room for when they brought in Dexter, Spencer called Prentiss.

According to fingerprint and DNA analysis from traces of sweat found on the keyboard of the laptop, Astor was able to determine that Jacob Elway had indeed been using the computer Quinn found at the hideout. That was possibly enough to be counted as evidence, but to sure, Quinn had Astor go into the computer itself to see what Elway had been doing on it. When he asked if she could do that, she grinned in a way that Quinn wasn't sure he liked too much, cracked her knuckles and said that would be no problem.

Meanwhile, he went back to his cubicle to see what he could find in regards to Elway's old file from when he was on the force with Robbery. All he really needed to do was see if there was still a file in Archives or something. If there was, there was a good chance he could find something in it with his hand writing on it. Pulling it from there shouldn't be too difficult.

It was even easier than he thought it would be; especially when he took into account his admittedly limited skill with computers. What was even better was that he was able to access it right there; he wouldn't have to go to archives to look at the hard copy. It was all point and click stuff; even he could handle that. He pointed. He clicked. The file on Jacob Elway, Robbery Detective (retired) came up onto his monitor.

"Easy as pie," Quinn muttered. He flipped through the tabs, looking for something that might have his signature or writing on it. He was just about to give up and go down to archives after all when he found something that just might work; Jacob's letter of resignation. It was hand-written and signed. "That should work." He said, and then clicked on the 'print document' button on the screen. His hope was that a printout of a photograph would be sufficient. The printer whirred and buzzed as it spat out a sheet of paper that had a copy of the letter on it. Joey then did a quick comparison to make sure the two samples looked similar enough to even bother. Satisfied that they were, Quinn nodded and got up out of his desk and headed towards the conference room where he was sure he saw the beanpole that Astor was all fancy about. As he neared the room, he saw that Agent Rossi was also coming that way. They got to the entrance at about the same time, and Agent Rossi took a half-step back to let Quinn enter first.

When they were both in the room, Reid had already changed something on the board, and was on the phone. He was greeting Prentiss and suggesting that he may have figured out the UNSUB's mission; or at least his primary target. Meanwhile, he was circling the first initial of each of the victim's names; the letters of which spelled out another name: Hannah.

"Son of a bitch and hot damn," Quinn exclaimed. Rossi noted that Captain Batista had also entered the room, presumably done with notifying Heidi's next of kin.

Rossi looked over at him. "Does the name Hannah mean something to you?" He asked the Sergeant.

Quinn looked sideways at Rossi, trying to assess if the Special Agent was profiling him or something. It should have been obvious why the name Hannah meant something. The last victim was a friend and occasional accomplice of Hannah McKay; and she was found in McKay's former house.

Finally, Quinn apparently decided Rossi's reasons for asking were irrelevant. "The Hannah our guy is spelling out is Hannah McKay; it has to be. Our guy's objective is her. The only problem is general consensus says she slipped out of the country after evading Federal Marshals right before Hurricane Laura."

"Anybody have any ideas where?" Rossi asked.

"There are actually several theories," Reid interjected. "The most common ones say she fled to South America; most likely either Chile or Argentina, but there have been alleged sightings in the Dominican Republic, in Canada, and even various parts of Europe; particularly Portugal, Spain, and France. Actually, there is some speculation she may even be dead, but..."

"We get the idea." Rossi stopped him in mid stream. If given the chance, Reid would give an hour long lecture on the subject if he wasn't stopped. "What we need to know now is who would likely make her a target that also fits our profile."

"So far the most likely candidate appears to be Jacob Elway." Reid replied. "He's the Private investigator whose name keeps showing up in relation to the victims; either by working for them, tracking them on some client's behalf, or at least some indirect link. The fact that he is a former police detective would indicate he knows police procedure, and that he left the force to start his own firm says he has the organizational skills that something like this would require."

Rossi turned to Quinn. "Did you know this guy?" He asked. The Sergeant nodded that he did. "Would you happen to know if he had any interest in this Hannah McKay?"

"Oh, yeah," Quinn answered quietly. "When she escaped after Dexter turned her in, Elway was all about being the one to catch her and claim the reward. He even talked the Marshals into letting him take an active part in their investigation after he reported that he was able to track her back into Miami. He would have gotten the reward if they caught her here, but he wanted to be the one to get the collar."

"It fits." Captain Batista growled. "That money-grubbing son of a whore has got to be our guy. If only we had something to make it stick onto him."

"I think I might have something." Quinn said. "It isn't a lot, but it is a start. You remember that touchy CI I reached out to, right? He gave me coordinates that led me to a cabin in the Everglades where I found a computer with Elway's' prints and DNA all over it. I had Astor check it out and she confirmed that. She's going through it now to find out what he's been doing with it. I also found some papers with some writing on it, and located a sample of his writing. I was thinking if the samples match we have reason to talk to him. We at least have cause to see what else we can dig up on him in relation to this case."

Reid waved his hand, pointing at Quinn. "Can I see those samples?" He asked. The Sergeant handed them over to Reid. He took a quick glance at the two samples. "Well for starters there is no doubt these are both written by the same person." He confirmed. "The person was very clearly in different but not completely exclusive moods each time; both indicating a sense of dissatisfaction. In one of them he was he was dejected- almost apathetic, really, and the other shows lots of signs of frustration and even anger. Here, you can see it in the way he..." He stopped for a moment and realized everyone was just staring at him blankly. "I mean, it is pretty clear that both of these samples are from the same person."

"It sounds like we have to talk to Elway." Batista said.

"I agree." Rossi concurred. Looking at the Captain, he said, "I trust you can navigate your people, so now I'll navigate mine."

Each man turned to their respective teams to organize their effort to track down Elway for questioning. The Captain ordered one of his men to put a BOLO out on Jacob Elway.

"Hold on," Rossi said. "I wouldn't do that."

"Why not," Batista asked.

"Right now, this guy Elway doesn't know we're looking for him." Rossi replied. "He's smart. There is no doubt that he's been paying attention to our moves."

"He's even been able to misdirect our investigation by putting people that look good for these crimes in front of us." Reid pointed out.

"That being said," Rossi continued, "right now, this guy thinks we're looking for Kyle Butler. If he's our UNSUB, he's probably calm right now; feeling safe in the idea that we're not even looking at him, let alone looking for him."

"So we'll want to keep quiet so we can catch up with him before he even sees us coming." Quinn said. "It's the right call, Captain."

Batista nodded. "Alright; we cancel the BOLO." He said. "Quinn, take Hamelin with you back to that cabin you found. Shaw and I will go to his office, and Lewis will go with a Uni to his house."

Senior Supervisory Agent David Rossi rang up Prentiss to coordinate with her.

Emily Prentiss and JJ were headed back to Miami Metro when Emily got the call from Rossi. After speaking to Reid, she decided to have Alvez stay behind with the State troopers in order to bring Dexter Morgan in; just in case he still had something to do with all of this. That didn't seem likely; Dexter was in Maine when the killings began, so he wasn't the UNSUB. However his name, or his aliases, kept showing up enough in the case to warrant asking him a few questions. She answered Rossi's call.

"That hotshot Sergeant was able to build on the Elway lead." He said. Obviously he meant Joey. "His secret contact led him to a cabin out in the Everglades that looks like it might be a hideout of some sort. He's also got a computer with fingerprints and DNA matching Elway; their tech girl is going through it now. Last, we have handwriting from the cabin Reid confirms is Elway's by matching it to a sample here in the department."

"Is Quinn there now?" Prentiss asked. Rossi confirmed he was, and Prentiss asked her to put Joey on the phone.

"This is Quinn. Thrill me." Joey greeted.

"Sergeant this is Special Agent Prentiss." She greeted back, barely stopping herself from calling him by his first name. What had gotten into her? She also took notice of JJ's knowing smirk as she drove the car. "First, I need to know what the exact connection between Elway and this Hannah name that Dr. Reid found is. Then I need to know more about the cabin you found this evidence in, and what else we have to use against him in an interrogation."

"The Hannah is probably Hannah McKay." Joey replied. Prentiss knew the name and her case instantly. "After she escaped, Elway was pretty much obsessed with being the one to bring her in. That fits your Mission Profile, right? My CI told me that Elway wanted to hire One-Shot Oxford to take her out in Argentina, and that was how he ended up getting the location of his hideout. Now Elway can be linked to basically all the victims; at least indirectly, right? Last, he's a PI; I bet if we look in his case files, we can find detailed accounts of all of them. Hell, if we look hard enough, we might even that fucking hammer he used on the last two, and the machete he's been using to hack them up."

She nodded. He may be a bit of hothead and running that bad-boy trying to reform game a little bit on the nose, but he was pretty good at his job. "Okay, that's a good start. Can you get everyone to sit tight until JJ and I get back to the office? I have Agent Alvez waiting at the roadblock in case Dexter shows up; I want to make sure we cover every possible base."

"No problem," he said, ending the call.

Emily hung up and put her phone away. She glanced at JJ, who was only barely trying to conceal a smirk. "What," she asked.

"Nothing," JJ replied, a little too sweetly.

In a moment, Emily realized what JJ was getting at. "You think I'm into him, don't you?"

"Are you?" JJ asked. "I've seen some of your dates; he does seem your type."

Emily let out a nervous single sibilant of laughter. "No, he isn't." She protested flatly. "And no, I'm not." She added.

"Okay."

"I'm so not." Emily reiterated. She let out a long breath and turned her head to look out the passenger window. She wasn't interested in Sergeant Joey Quinn. Not that that was anything personal against him; it was just the fact.

...and she would keep telling herself that until she actually believed it.


	14. Chapter 14

_Leaving Daytona Beach_

The RV cruised out of Daytona Beach, and Dexter saw the reason for the snarl of traffic right away; this was where the State Troopers set up their road block. From his present vantage point, he couldn't see if any of those BAU agents were there, but he imagined at least one of them were. His guess was that it would be Luke Alvez; in case he made an attempt to fight his way out.

 _"Last chance to back out, Dex,"_ Deb warned. _"If you have a plan B now's the fuckin' time to use it."_

"No need," Dexter muttered. "This is what I want, and I know what I'm doing."

Deb laughed sardonically. _"Not even God knows what the fuck you are doing."_

"Of course He doesn't. He doesn't exist." Dexter countered dryly. "Now be quiet, please. The last thing I need right now is to have State Troopers and Federal Agents hear me talking to my imaginary friends and relatives. That will be what fucks this plan up."

SSA Luke Alvez stepped out of his vehicle to stretch his legs and work a kink out of his back. As he did so, he scanned the Interstate; his focus on vehicles coming out of Daytona Beach and towards the block. While there were several ways that this Dexter Morgan guy could attempt to get into Miami, Alvez was certain this was the route he was going to take. It was possible he was counting on them over thinking the scenario, thus missing the obvious; but Luke had an idea that Dexter wanted to be spotted. If he was coming in to check on his adoptive daughter, this would be the quickest way to do it. From what the files on Morgan said, he was nothing if not efficient; almost to the point of total emotional detachment. It was a little disturbing, when Luke thought about it.

So far he saw nothing remarkable; but then made sense, too. Their guy had spent years evading any kind of detection, and that meant he knew how to blend in. Of course, nobody was actually looking for him, but to be able to avoid being recognized for that long still said a lot about the guy. Even Garcia seemed impressed at how well his tracks were covered. He and Garcia might play at disliking each other, but they both knew how good they each were at their jobs; Luke was sure their banter was tempered with a great deal of respect.

He watched as the State Troopers went through the motions; one after another each vehicle they stopped was let through after a fairly routine set of questions. Eventually an RV, neither 'new' nor 'old', but perfectly maintained approached them. They stopped it, and had the driver present his licence and registration. The driver was a Caucasian Male in his late thirties or possibly early forties with a trim dark beard, sunglasses, and a baseball cap covering a recently shaved head. One of the troopers examined the licence, gave it a second look and asked the driver a question before showing the card to his partner. She also looked at it carefully, said something to her partner, and then waved Alvez in after taking another look at the driver. Apparently they thought they had something.

Alvez made his way to the Troopers at the RV. The female Trooper handed him the Drivers' License when he got there. He took it and gave it a once over. The picture matched the look of the driver. In fact, the card looked completely legit. At first, Alvez couldn't understand what they thought they saw; until he looked at the name on the card. It read John Dough. He had to admit that sounded a little hokey; it was too hokey to be fake he reasoned. Then he looked at the picture a little closer, and realized what he was looking at; or more accurately who he was looking at. Add some hair, remove the beard, and this was a picture of Dexter Morgan.

"So you're John Dough, huh?" He said to the driver.

"Yeah," the driver replied, obviously not expecting Alvez to believe him.

"Do you mind pulling the vehicle over to the side of the road, please?" Alvez asked.

"What's this about, officer?"

The male State Trooper undid the flap on his holster. "The man made a request, sir," he said. "I recommend you do as he says."

"It's alright," Alvez said to the Trooper, not taking his eyes off Morgan. "I got this." He then said to Morgan: "Actually, it's Agent." He flipped his badge. "I'm SSA Luke Alvez of the BAU. I'm sure we can straighten everything out if you would just pull over to the side of the road, Mr. Dough. If you please."

Morgan smiled slightly, nodded amicably, and complied with the request. Alvez and the Troopers followed along with him; now they both had their holster flaps undone. Morgan had even had the courtesy to shut off the ignition, and then he waited for what he clearly knew was coming next.

"Please step out of the vehicle." Alvez ordered. Morgan complied with no argument or trouble. The Agent was almost thoroughly convinced that he predicted this guy's moves down to a T. "Dexter Morgan, we'd like you to come with us to the Station to answer a few questions." He said.

Dexter hesitated for a fraction of a second; Alvez was sure he saw him tilt his head ever so slightly to his left, and then straighten it again, as if he was hoping nobody noticed. "Sure, if that's what you want." He said, not even trying to protest his name was John Dough. "I have nothing to hide."

Alvez was only a little bothered at how easy Dexter was making this; he wondered if maybe the team was missing something. Did Dexter have a plan that they hadn't thought of? A quick profile on him did suggest he was remarkably resourceful, so it was possible. The only thing he could do now though was lead him to the car, seat him in the back seat, and take him to the Miami Metro Station while the State Troopers took down their roadblock.

In the car and on their way back to Miami, Dexter asked, "Can I ask again what this is about?"

"We'll discuss that once we get to the Station." Alvez replied.

"Am I under arrest?"

Alvez snorted lightly. Next thing this guy was going to ask was probably going to be that he Mirandized. "Not yet," he answered, "this is just a few questions, is all."

Dexter clearly registered the meaning of the tone in which he said 'not yet' and fell silent for the rest of trip.

 _Miami, Florida_

When Dexter was finally brought into the Station, he wasn't cuffed. That had to be a good sign, Astor thought; he wasn't struggling, either. In fact he was being very cooperative. Did he get caught on purpose? She knew he was coming to Miami; she overheard the Agents talking to Batista and Uncle Joey earlier. They were also organizing themselves to do a quiet search for a new suspect – the term they used was UNSUB. Apparently their new UNSUB was Jacob Elway, the Private Dick that Aunt Deb worked for after she quit the force. What she didn't understand was why Dexter came out of hiding, and why they thought he had anything to add to their current case. Yes, Elway, if it was him, was copying Dexter, but they didn't know that; they thought he was copying that Doakes guy. Maybe they were just curious why he faked his death and why he came back after all this time. Astor was curious about that, too.

Dexter looked different; he had a trimmed beard, for one thing, and he shaved his head. It was actually a good look for him, but made for a shitty disguise, if that was what he was trying to do. He saw her as they led him into one of the interview rooms. As they did, the whole place fell dead silent; a lot of the detectives and officers looked like they just saw a ghost. In a way, she supposed they did...

Astor followed them into the hearing area of the interview room. After that, they started breaking up into groups. As far as she could tell, Dr. Reid was going to do the interview with that Alvez guy monitoring; the Boss Lady of the Feds was going with Uncle Joey and Hamelin, the Old Italian Guy was going with Lewis, and the Pretty Blonde was going with Batista and Shaw. She noticed that it seemed to her that the Agent Boss Lady and Uncle Joey were standing just a little too close to each other; she had an idea she might have to remember her name before long, especially Uncle Joey decided to really turn on the charm. She had mixed feelings about Dr. Reid doing the interview; Dexter was smart, but she was pretty sure Reid was smarter. If Dexter had anything to hide, which of course he did, Dr. Spencer Reid might be able to get it out of him. Then again, she supposed that was probably sort of the point.

Dexter Morgan looked up from his ultra-fine view of the interview room floor beneath the table in front of him when he heard the door open and saw a lanky young man with a file and long hair walk in. He couldn't help but noticed the man's socks did not match; and remembered a phase that Astor went through doing that, saying it was supposed to be good luck. From the pictures he saw when he browsed the BAU bios, he knew this to be Dr. Spencer Reid.

 _Wonderful; the big genius is also superstitious. How he reconciles that, I wonder._

Dr. Reid walked towards the table and sat down; Dexter found his gait strangely fascinating for a moment. While it was on the surface humble, maybe even meek, underneath the surface there was a certain hidden confidence that came just short of bravado. It was the kind of walk that Dexter imagined a man who has been through a lot would have; perhaps even a man who had done time in prison. It struck him as unusual...

"Hello, Mr. Morgan," he said, his voice soft and gentle, almost effeminate –or possibly childlike. "My name is Doctor Spencer Reid. I am with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"You're one of those Profilers, right?" Dexter asked. "Like that Frank Lundy guy. My sister was very fond of him, you know. Was he a friend of yours, Dr. Reid?"

Dr. Reid ignored his questions entirely. Instead, he opened his file and rapidly leafed through the pages. "You were on the Forensics team in this office during the time of the original Bay Harbor Butcher case. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct." Dexter replied. _Maybe they'll dismiss the fact that I faked my own death and went into hiding entirely. Maybe they're just looking for some expert insight._

 _"Yeah, and maybe winged wallabies will come out of my asshole."_ Deb said from behind him and a little to the left. _"Talk about fuckin' hubris, you batshit crazy fuck."_

As delightful as it was to hear that his sister was up to full form back in the Station; even wearing the suit that LaGuerta helped her pick so she look 'more professional' when she was Lieutenant, Dexter disregarded her commentary, even if she was probably right.

"Along with Vincent Masuka, the Lead Forensics officer, I was on the case with Detective Debra Morgan and Agent Frank Lundy." He finished his confirmation. "In fact, Agent Lundy referred to me as his favorite forensic scientist; but I think that may have been because of my association with Debra. Those two got... intimate, you know."

Again, Dr. Reid ignored the attempt at misdirection. Dexter had to admit, he quite admired the Doctor's focus. "The evidence collected led to the confirmation and pursuit of Sergeant James Doakes of this very department as the UNSUB. Is that correct?"

 _That was partly because he was careless and ultimately framed himself with evidence that would have otherwise damned me._ "Yes, that is correct." Dexter answered, nodding earnestly and taking care to remember the classic tells of deception so he could avoid them.

"Did you and Sergeant Doakes get along?"

 _For once I can tell the truth...well, mostly..._

"Well, if I'm going to be honest, no we didn't."

"According to our records, he started getting especially hostile towards you specifically during that case. Let me ask you this: Why do you suppose that was?" Reid asked.

"I don't know," Dexter said. "If I understand behavioral science correctly, most psychopaths have a period or phase in which they degenerate. Maybe he was in that phase; or maybe he was afraid I was getting too close to catching on to him."

"Then let me ask you something else." Dr. Reid pressed gently. "Why is it, then, years after the case was closed, former Captain Maria LaGuerta reopened the case to investigate you as the real Bay Harbor Butcher, and is on record claiming she suspected that you in fact framed Doakes?"

"Those same records should also reveal that LaGuerta and Doakes were partners back when they were uniform cops, and that they in fact had...personal relations for awhile. Obviously, LaGuerta still had feelings for him and was desperate to clear his name. In fact, the files you're basing this line of inquiry on will also tell you that she was even facing charges of evidence tampering in order frame _me._ " Dexter replied.

The Doctor gave a reveal of his own; he rubbed his right eye with the heel of his right hand. Dexter suppressed the urge to smile; he didn't want Reid to clue in that he realized he was winning this round. It didn't much matter what the Doctor _knew,_ what mattered was what he could _prove._

"What I'm curious about, Doctor, is what any of this has to do with why I'm here in the first place. Yes, I faked my own death and assumed several different identities since then. Does that suddenly make me a suspect for murder? I'd like to understand how that works?" Dexter pressed.

 _Don't press too hard, Dexter._ Harry warned from behind him and a little to the right. _Remember, these guys are trained to measure behavior; he could be drawing you into a trap._

"No, of course you're not a suspect." Dr. Reid said a little too gently. "But it seems that your name has come up a number of times in relation to a number of different people of interest in the case. Let me ask you; do you remember Jonah Mitchell?"

 _The son of Trinity; he killed his mother and possibly his sister._ "Yes," Dexter nodded. "He's the son of Arthur Mitchell, the man who killed my wife. IS he your suspect? Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?"

"That Arthur Mitchell, the Trinity Killer, was one of the Copycat's victims? That's one of the reasons I came out of hiding to check on Astor and Cody; if Trinity is dead, then it's safe."

"No, it was a different man with the same name. But Jonah did mention a friend of his father; a man named Kyle Butler. Are you familiar with him?" Dr Reid replied.

"I remember the name came up in the Trinity Investigation." Dexter confirmed. "I don't think we ever found him, though."

Dr. Reid reached into the file and produced a computer generated sketch which he placed on the table in front of him. Dexter took a look at it and saw it was an unmistakable resemblance to him as he looked back then. He remembered Quinn did a similar trick with scissors and glue years ago when he was looking into Rita's murder. "Jonah Mitchell confirmed in an interview that this is the closest resemblance to the man he knew as Kyle Butler." He said.

 _You're fucked now, Dex._ Debra said. _He just caught you in a lie._

 _I used the name Kyle Butler as an alias so I get in close to Arthur before I killed him._ "Ok, I admit it," Dexter said finally. "I was being stupid; trying to play cop. I got hold of one of Lundy's recordings. He was looking at Arthur Mitchell as a suspect just before he got shot. Naturally it made sense to look closer, so I made up a name so I could undercover. I was going to try and find proof so I could submit it to Deb... Lieutenant Morgan so she could make the arrest. It was stupid and dangerous and I was embarrassed. Arthur killed my wife – who also happens to be Astor, Cody, and Harrison's' mother – and got away. He must have caught on to me, which means I blew the whole investigation. It was my fault. That was part of the reason why I ran."

"Almost three years later" Reid commented.

"I wanted to make sure I had enough to live on first." Dexter countered.

"I see." Dr Reid said; Dexter was quite certain that Reid didn't believe a single word he just said, but also knew he couldn't prove anything – at least not yet. "We actually found yet another connection amongst most of the victims, which also links back to you in a manner of speaking." He continued, producing yet another set of papers. The top one was a picture of Jacob Elway. "What can you tell me about Jacob Elway?"

 _That son of a bitch tried to fuck me._ Deb said. _I might have hated that skanky Hannah McKay, but even she was better than that fuckin' dipshit!_

"He's a Private Investigator." Dexter replied, now getting anxious to talk to Astor. "He used to work for the Miami Metro, but then got greedy and moved into what he called 'the Private Sector' to make more money. My sister worked for him for a little while. Why? What does he have to do with anything? Is he a suspect?" _He would fit their probable Profile. The question to ask is why? What would be his motive?_

"While you were in hiding, did you have any contact with Mr. Elway?" Reid asked.

"No," Dexter replied truthfully, "absolutely not. After the way he treated my sister, I wouldn't give him the time of day." 

"We understand he took quite an invested interest in Hannah McKay, the woman you turned in for the murder of Sal Price, after she escaped. Did you know the Copycat's latest victim was none other than Arlene Shram; a good friend of Hannah's?"

"No, I did not." Dexter answered, also truthfully. _It is Elway! He must have somehow figured out what I am, and was using that to lure Hannah out. He must thought that if she believed I was alive, she'd come running into his trap._

 _Stay calm, Dexter,_ Harry advised. _They wouldn't have brought him up if they didn't already suspect him, and so far they haven't said anything about what have done. Don't give them any reason to._

 _He's right, Dex._ Debs concurred. _I hate that bitch, but even I'll admit she's way too smart to fall that shit. The Feds are idiots, but Joey and Angel aren't; they've got to be closing in on that motherfucker._

 _He's a threat to Hannah and_ my _children._ I _should be the one to stop him; permanently._

"Do you think Hannah has something to do with all this?" he asked.

"We think she may his final target," Reid admitted. "I understand you two were quite close at one time. Let me ask you; would you have happened to have any contact with her, or maybe have an idea where she might be?"

"No I haven't." He replied; telling the truth this much was a strange sensation for him. "She did talk about Argentina a lot," he offered, figuring they probably already knew that anyway.

Dr Reid collected his papers, organized them neatly in his file, and stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Morgan." He said, turning to leave.

"How is Astor?" Dexter called after him. Reid stopped and turned back around. "I heard she found the Mitchell body; I wanted know if she was okay."

"Is that why you risked coming back to Miami?" he asked.

"Well, yes," Dexter said. "After I heard the name of the victim, I thought it as Trinity, so I felt like it might be safe to come and check; just to be sure." He put on his best pathetic and worried face in mimic of the types he saw after countless hours of soap opera television.

As far as he could tell, Reid bought it. "She's fine." He said, and continued out the door.

"If that's all, can go see her now?" Dexter called after him again, the door closing behind the doctor and leaving Dexter in the room alone.

 _The Everglades_

Jacob Elway pulled the Jeep to a stop around the back of the cabin he liberated from Alex 'One Shot' Oxford and covered it with the camouflage tarpaulin he found in the armoury located in what he guessed was meant to be a kind of bomb shelter behind the steel door. Satisfied that the Jeep was sufficiently concealed, he made his way around to the front to go inside; intending to get online and monitor all the major airports in the State in order to gauge where Hannah McKay would attempt to come in. Now that her one and only friend was killed by 'the Butcher' (and Elway was certain she would associate that with Dexter Morgan, whom had recently resurfaced as if back from the dead), and would not be able to pass up on taking revenge for his betrayal. Once he was sure she was in Florida, all he would have to do was shadow Morgan until she came after him. It wasn't exactly the plan he originally had in mind, but sometimes a guy had to improvise. All in all, even after the few minor hiccups in the operation, Jacob Elway was feeling pretty good.

Then he saw the front door of the cabin; it was ajar. Someone else had been here. Jacob drew his weapon and glanced around at all the obvious points of cover outside. Once he was sure that everything was clear, he gave the door a stiff front kick so it swung violently inwards into anyone who may be waiting behind it; stunning them. Barging into the front room of the cabin, he whirled around to check the corners, including behind the door, to find the room clear. If someone was here, betting odds said they were gone by now; if they were still here the racket he just made would have either compelled them to flee or to try to fight their way out. Still, it was best to be sure. It was possible they could be hiding if they heard the Jeep approach. First he checked the kitchen, and then the lavatory. Both rooms were clear. Carefully he ran his fingers under a lip on the sink and clutched the key to the steel door; good. The key was still there, so it was highly unlikely anyone was down there. Since he took over the cabin from the now deceased Alex Oxford, Elway did a couple of slight alterations to the chamber of the other side of that door. He removed the weapons, except for the shotgun and the three rifles on the far opposite wall of the door, and cleaned it to a sparkle. He also kept his rolls of plastic in there, as well as a machete and a hunting knife. The armoury was now his killing room. Just to be sure, he would check in there in a minute; first he had to check the bedroom.

Jacob Elway was not happy with what he found.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A WHORE!" he shouted.

Whoever the interloper was had definitely been in this room; and was a fucking thief to boot. His computer was gone. The fact that it was gone wasn't so much the issue; he had been careful to remove any incriminating data from its memory. It was the principle of the thing that pissed him off so much. The footlocker was also opened, and clearly been gone through. That was bad; that was very bad. He rushed to the locker and started to take inventory. It took all of three seconds to determine that everything to do with his research on the original Butcher was gone, and all things regarding his targets was also missing.

It was those damn Feds. Or it was the cops. It had to be. There was no way this was some accidental hiker or some punk kid. How did they find this place? They obviously knew who Oxford was, but how in the hell did they know where to look for him? The answer was obvious; they found this place the same way he did. Doyle must have tipped them off. Doyle wouldn't let a Federal Agent within a hundred yards of him if he could help it, so either they pressed him hard, or it was the cops. Doyle wouldn't likely talk to many cops, unless he knew they were dirty, and even then he would be selective. The only cop that Elway could think of that might be able to reach a scumbag like Doyle was...

"Quinn, you asshole." He muttered.

He had no more time than that to harbor ill thoughts; if Quinn was here, then the cops and the Feds were on their way. He could try to make his escape, but they would chase him down. He probably wouldn't even get out of the swamp before they caught up to him. So flight was out of the question. If he let them catch him, he was going to find himself in the lap of Old Sparky for sure. That left one option; fight. He scrambled to the Armoury and unlocked the door. In the fortified chamber on the other side, he grabbed the shotgun. There was no doubt he was done for, but he wasn't going to be taken alive. If he had his way, he'd even take a few of them with him...


	15. Chapter 15

_Miami, Florida_

It wasn't what Dr. Spencer Reid knew that mattered, it was what he could prove; he knew that. What he knew was that Dexter Morgan was hiding something; something big. He did catch him in a lie; Dexter tried to pretend he never assumed the identity of Kyle Butler, then admitted his deception with a plausible excuse; except that was another lie; his eyes gave that away, but only barely. They moved to both sides of his head for just the briefest of moments before he answered. First they moved to memory, and then to fabrication for just a fraction of a second. That would indicate an actual memory, and then perhaps a memorized lie. Other than that and an obviously faked expression of concern regarding Astor, Dexter revealed no tells at all, and that in itself was problematic in that it could mean he was well versed in interviewing techniques. Someone going to such lengths to hide his tells was either a habitual poker player, or most certainly had a lot to hide. Having been born and raised in Las Vegas, Dr Reid could usually pick out card sharps; Dexter Morgan wasn't one, though he certainly could be if he wanted to. From the interview alone, what he could prove was...nothing. Dexter wasn't under arrest, so as of right then they really had not a whole of choice but to cut him loose, especially since they didn't even have probable cause. Reid supposed they could hold him for impersonating a police officer- albeit a deceased one, but that wouldn't do much good, either. So far as he could tell, there was no evidence to suggest he had anything to do with Elway's copycat spree. In fact, they had yet to have much in the way of significant evidence against Elway, neither; unless Miami Metro was holding back.

So despite how certain he was that there was something wrong about Dexter Morgan – something horrible, actually, he tracked down Astor and advised her that her stepfather was anxious to see her. She was, after all, technically family.

When the interview room door opened a second time, Dexter looked up and saw Astor standing there. She had grown a great deal since the last time he saw her, but still carries the same surly look of apathy in her expression. He knew that expression to be a mask; she wore it like a shield when she was starting to feel overwhelmed by her emotions. The fact she _could_ be overwhelmed by emotion at all was something he knew he should be encouraged by as it meant she wasn't on the same Dark Path that he was, but part of him was a little disappointed too; living in the world he lived in could get lonely sometimes. All the same, he took a little comfort in knowing that neither he nor Paul Bennett, her biological father, screwed her up too badly. There was also the fact that she came to get him at all, and that was a good sign that she wasn't as upset at him for all he had done as she ought to be; or certainly had right to be.

"Well, are you going to get up so we get out of here, or are you going to sit there and stare at me all day?" She asked, with just a hint of her familiar contempt in her voice.

Dexter slowly got up from his chair. "Hello Astor," he said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She replied. "Come on, let's get out of here." She held the door open long enough for Dexter to catch up before she walked off, presumably towards the parking lot. Dexter followed.

"Thank you for seeing me." Dexter said. "I know I have a lot of explaining to do, and I'd like very much to have the opportunity. As soon as I find a place to stay, it would be good for us to talk."

Astor sighed. "As fucked as all of you are," she retorted, "you, Cody, and Uncle Joey are really the only family I have left. Well, I suppose Harrison, too, wherever he is. I'm not letting you hole up in some crappy motel. My apartment is small, but it's better than that. You're staying with me for now."

"Thanks," Dexter said quietly. He couldn't help but notice something was off with Astor; like she was saying what she thought she was supposed to say rather than what was really going on in her head. Was this an act? If it was, it was a passably good one for those who wouldn't know better. Dexter was quite certain he was seeing a few cracks in that veneer of apathy she was wearing. There was definitely something else going on behind the mask; but Dexter couldn't quite make out what. It might be an inconsolable rage at him, or it could be some kind of weird and immeasurable relief to see him still alive; or perhaps some combination of both. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to crack her mask from the inside and to get the attention of the Dark Passenger; which was suddenly taking a vested interest in Astor Morgan. Not so much that she was killer (yet), but it was almost certain it had found a kindred spirit after all. One thing was certain; the cold and surly apathy was just a little too deliberate to be natural.

Once outside, he saw they were heading towards an all too familiar SUV; t was the same one he gave to her before his attempt to leave Miami with Hannah. She still had it. Once he saw it, memories came flooding back to him. _Memories of using to transport my playmates from kill rooms to the Slice of Life for disposal into the Gulf Stream._

"So how is Cody these days?" He tried as an opener for conversation.

"He doesn't want to be a cop anymore." She replied. "He's gone all straight edge; complete with about a million tattoos and aggressive piercings. He's also practically living in a gym when he's not trying to be a pro wrestler."

 _How did she know I knew he wanted to be a cop?_ "Well, good for him, right?" He said as cheerfully as he could manage. "I hope he becomes heavyweight champion."

They got to the SUV and she opened the passenger door to let him in. He climbed in and she closed the door gently beside him before going around to the driver's side and letting herself in. The moment she sat down and turned to him, her expression changed to one of almost exaggerated elation as she leaned in and hugged him, finishing with a kiss on the temple. She rubbed his scalp softly, smiling a smile he only remembered seeing rarely.

"It's so good to see you, Dexter!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I knew you were alive for long time now, but to actually see you, and see that you're looking good and healthy means more to me than you know!"

Confused, Dexter asked; "You knew I was alive? How?"

"Uncle Joey told me." She replied. "But don't worry, I haven't said a single word to anybody else, especially not Cody. Uncle Joey needed help to help keep you from being found, so he came to me; I guess I was the only one he felt he could trust with this, so I helped him set up Identifications for John Dough, Stan Liddy, and a couple of others are in the works in case you need them."

"All of that was done by you?" Dexter asked, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

"Yeah," Astor answered, and then waved him off. "I'll explain all of that later. First, let's get you home and cleaned up." She started the engine and pulled out of Miami Metro Police.

Dexter shrugged. "Okay," he said, settling into the seat and letting Astor just drive in silence. For the first time since after he faked his death and fled, Dexter felt truly relaxed; like everything was going to work out just fine. If only there was a way to get to Elway...

 _The Everglades_

Without sirens, Sergeant Quinn drove the car he picked out of the Motor Pool down the dirt road that would eventually lead them to the cabin that matched the coordinates Doyle gave him to find Oxford's hideout; which was now basically Elway's base of operations for his... second job. Initially, Emily wanted to drive, but Quinn insisted; he knew the road, and said that it had a few tricky spots. He claimed it was just a better idea if he drove, since he already knew what to watch for and when on this road. Reluctantly, Emily capitulated. It wasn't so much that she was a control freak; it was more that she didn't want Joe Quinn to be able to rent too much more space in her head than he already had. As little as she liked to admit it, Joe was the kind of guy that she found herself drawn to all too often. He wore a bad boy image like some kind of suit of armor, but underneath it there was a gentleman's heart with a very distinct set of principles. What was really starting to get to her, though, was it was also clear in the way he acted that he had a tendency to become absolutely loyal to those he cared about- even if it meant bending or even breaking the rules. While this came off like some kind of TV character trope; especially with the bad boy image facade, Emily couldn't help but find it a little bit endearing.

"Just remember," she said, trying to put her focus back on the actual task on hand, 'we don't have any actionable evidence on him just yet, so all we want to do is ask him a few questions."

Quinn looked over his shoulder at her once they worked their way around a bend in the road. "This might come as a surprise to you, Agent Prentiss, but I'm actually pretty good at this." He shot back with an exaggerated level of agitation; it was pretty clear to her that he didn't take her instructions nearly as personal as it might have seemed. His smile suggested a kind of flirtatious nature to it; he was trying for a banter type of rapport between them. Did that mean he caught on to her? Or was he just fishing after she busted him earlier?

"If you two don't mind," Hamelin said from the back seat, "we are going into a possibly dangerous situation. I for one would rather not get killed because you're too busy batting your eyelashes at each other to keep your head in the game."

"Shut up, Scott." Quinn shot back, and averted his eyes back onto the road ahead of him. The rest of the trip was silent. The truth of the matter was that despite his crass way of wording it, Hamelin was right; they really had no idea what to expect, and it would be wise to stay focused. Ideally, they should have back up, but they were hoping not to spook Elway if he was at the cabin.

 _Miami, Florida_

Just walking into the office building of Elway Investigations made Captain Angelo Batista feel a little dirty; after so many years of serving the Public Trust, the thought of using Law Enforcement and Crime Prevention for the purpose of profit was enough to turn his stomach. Never mind the fact that that Elway was now a Prime Suspect in a serial murder case. It wasn't so much that Angel was against making money; he had his restaurant for that. It was that Law Enforcement was supposed to be about helping people; not about bleeding the public of their hard earned pay in order to have a hope of seeing an ounce of justice. Maybe it was his Catholic upbringing that objected to the choices Elway had made, but that didn't change the fact that everything he saw in this building was enough to make him lose even more faith in humanity.

"But God-damn this place!" Shaw exclaimed. "If the city could give us the kind of budget to run a gig like this..."

"I get it." Batista grumbled.

"It just doesn't seem right that we do what we do out of duty and scumbags like this clown sit pretty like this, do it?" Shaw commented. Batista liked him for that.

"No," he agreed. "No it doesn't."

They approached the front desk, where they were greeted by a pretty red-headed receptionist. "Welcome to Elway Investigations." She greeted with a perfect smile. "How may we help you?"

"I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau with BAU of the FBI," Jareau introduced herself, flashing her badge. "I'm sure you're familiar with Captain Angelo Batista and Detective Duncan Shaw of Miami-Dade Metro Homicide. We'd like to see Jacob Elway; it's a matter of concern to a Federal Investigation which we believe he can help us with." Batista couldn't help but notice that the Fed actually pronounced his first name correctly; that was rare with white breads like her, especially ones that were so clearly small town grown. He remembered that she was once a PR girl for the team; she must have been very good at her job.

"I'm terribly sorry," the receptionist replied. "Mr. Elway isn't in at the moment. I would be happy to send him a message for you if you..."

"That's alright," Batista cut her off. "We'll just wait until either he comes back or calls in."

The mailing address that Garcia had found for Jacob Elway turned out to be a post box to a Marina; each box was assigned to a specific dock. Box 42, the last box on this marina and the one attached to Elway, was an empty dock. Either it was a red herring, or Elway was already long gone. If David Rossi was to be honest, neither of those possibilities would surprise him much. Once this was discovered, Lieutenant Lewis cursed under her breath. After that, she called the office dispatch to order a search for any boat that Jacob Elway might own. There was a chance they might get lucky and find him that way. Meanwhile, Rossi called Reid and Prentiss.

"We're at the address we found as the home address for Jacob Elway." Rossi reported once he had both of them on the line. "It's a marina, no boat at Elway's dock. I'm not sure if our guy has a boat and is already in the wind, or if the address is a red herring. The Lieutenant is looking into that now."

"Quinn, Hamelin and I are closing in on the cabin," Prentiss replied. "I just heard from JJ; Elway is not at his office. She's in the building with detective Shaw, while Captain Batista is waiting outside. Apparently being in that place is anathema to his sensibilities. Reid, were you able to get anything useful from Dexter?"

"Not really, no." Reid answered. "During the course of the interview he revealed no tells to indicate any deception; in fact he displayed no tells at all."

"So we have no reason to say he's lying." Rossi said.

"That's the problem, though." Reid countered. "The complete lack of tells one way or the other in itself indicates a practiced concealment; a deliberate act to conduct himself too perfectly suggests to me that he must be hiding something; though it may or may not have anything to do with this case. In any event due to lack of any tangible evidence I had no choice but to cut him loose."

"That's fine." Prentiss said. "Dave, get back to the office and meet up with Spencer and Luke to come to the coordinates of the cabin; we're really isolated out here and there's always a chance he might try to shoot his way out if he's here."

Dave Rossi disconnected the call and started to the car so he could meet with Reid and Alvez.

 _The Everglades_

In the distance, Jacob Elway could hear the engine of the first of the cops breaking the relative still of the Everglade Air. That meant they would be here any minute. That meant he had a serious choice to make; should he lure them into the cabin and take them out in close quarters ambush style, or should he just come out shooting and hope he could make a break for it in the back trails o where he kept his speeder boat moored to a channel? He supposed he could have made for the trails as soon as he realized Quinn had been through his shit, but then they might be able to trace his steps. It was better to give them something else to think about before coming after him. There was no guarantee he'd even make it to the boat; his only play here was to try and fight his way out. He'd give them a fight to remember, too. All that was left now was the wait.

That wait wasn't too long, either; through the blinds he saw the car pull up and come to a stop. It was just the one car; where was the back up? Did they think maybe he wasn't here? Were they checking his mailing address? Did they find his actual Condo? Were they going through his shit at the office? He shook his head; none of that mattered anymore. Quinn was stepping out of the driver side, and that pretty brunette Fed he showed up with stepped out of the passenger. Randomly, he thought that if Deb Morgan cleaned herself up a little bit, she could have looked as good as the Fed; not that Deb wasn't a first class hottie when she was alive. Then Scott Hamelin, who Jacob knew only peripherally, stepped out of the passenger back. The Fed was wearing armor that advertised FBI, and Quinn and Hamelin had their Miami-Dade vests on.

Jacob smiled grimly and patted the shotgun he selected from Oxford's armory. With the rounds he chose to go with it that armor wasn't going to help any of them. Even as they drew their weapons and began to fan out, Jacob made his move.

"Say hello to my little friend." He whispered in his best Al Pacino accent as he swung the door open, took aim, and shot off his first round; right in the "B" of FBI.

By the time Quinn got them to the cabin, he, Emily, and Scott had worked out their approach. They opted against a hard entry; there was a chance he wasn't even here. Ideally, they should have been waiting for the others to show up, but they all agreed they would at least sweep the place first. That turned out to be a mistake.

They got out of the car drew their weapons, and began to fan out when Elway popped out of the front door with a shotgun.

BOOM! The shotgun reported, the blast hitting Prentiss square in the chest. She flew back, slamming into the front of the car and dropping to the ground as she gasped for air. Quinn dove in front of her and tried to lay down cover fire, his shot going wide and high as Elway fired off another round. This time the blast took Hamelin down. Then Elway made a break for it; heading around the cabin to what was most likely a maze of back trails to God knew where.

"Son of a bitch!" he cursed. Glancing first at the direction that Elway bolted, then at Prentiss, then at Scott, the Sergeant knew he had one choice. He had to call it in. Prentiss was down, but she was breathing. Even from the angle he was at, Quinn could see that Hamelin's face was gone. He called Dispatch, barking the coordinates of the cabin in the Everglades and advising they were under fire; an officer and an Agent down. Then he started to attend to Emily's wound.

"It's bad," Emily said, "but not as bad as it could be. The armor still took most of it." She coughed. "You called it in, help is on its way. Go get that son of a bitch. I'll be fine."

 _Miami_

The moment that Dispatch reported on Quinn's call, Captain Angel Batista fired up the engine of his car. Shaw and the Fed they called JJ came scrambling out of the monstrosity of Elway Investigations and piled in, fastening their seatbelts as Angel sped towards the scene. For a fraction of a second it occurred to him that the Everglades were going to destroy the transmission of his baby, but that didn't matter. At the same time, SSA Luke Alvez stomped on the accelerator even as Lieutenant Lewis flipped on the sirens. In a matter of moments, ambulance was en route as well.

 _The Everglades_

Sergeant Joey Quinn gave one last discerning look at SSA Prentiss before deciding she really was alright; he could hear sirens coming closer anyway. They must have somebody coming, anyway; probably guys from her team. That Alvez guy would come in handy right about now; even Rossi looked like he could still hold his own. Maybe the beanpole that Astor was so fancy about could patch her up until Paramedics got here. Once he felt sure that Emily was really going to be okay, he sprinted after Elway, hoping he picked the right trail and that that motherfucker wasn't waiting in ambush.

For a moment, Jacob Elway actually thought he was in the clear. He made it all the way to his boat, and there was no apparent sign that Quinn or anybody was chasing him. Of course he wasn't; he had to stay with that Fed to make sure she didn't die, if she wasn't dead already. With a silent cheer he set the shotgun down and began to prepare the boat.

"Don't move Elway!" Detective-Sergeant Joe Quinn bellowed, his weapon trained on the soon to be incarcerated and probably executed Private Investigator. It seemed a little bit of luck was with him; not only did he pick the right trail to try and track Jacob down, but it was a short trail leading to a brook where he had a boat fastened to a tree trunk nearby. "Get your hands in the air where I can see them, you sick fucking fuck!" He ordered, feeling as if he was channelling Debra Morgan for a second.

Slowly, Jacob complied, but Quinn also saw him eye he shotgun.

"Don't even think about it." He warned. "Keep your hands up, and interlace your fingers or I swear to God I'll put a slug in your brain."

Slowly, Elway complied. Quinn stepped quickly but carefully to where Elway was standing, holstering his weapon and grabbing his cuffs as he did so. Knowing full well that even with the handwriting analysis and the information he acquired from the cabin so far that he had a circumstantial case against him or the copycat at best; he still had a damn good case against this prick now.

"Jacob Elway," he said, "you are under arrest for the shooting death of Detective Scott Hamelin and the attempted murder of Federal Agent Emily Prentiss. You have the right to remain silent..." He continued reading Elway his rights as he approached; figuring that these charges would be enough to keep him under lock and key while they built a case for the copycat murders as well. When he reached Elway and grabbed at his wrist to cuff him, Elway jerked his arm free and nailed Quinn with a sharp back elbow square in the nose. Hitting him with a wet snap, Quinn jerked back, but instinctively kicked out with his right leg landing it hard in Elway's chest as he bent down and stretched out to clutch at the shotgun. This was followed by a hard knee to the temple as Jacob fell to his hands and knees from the kick. Elway was sent sprawling.

"You're a stupid son of a fuck, you know that?" Quinn said, kicking the shotgun out of Elway's grasp before diving on top of him and laying into him with a hard right...and then another...and then another... for killing a cop...for shooting a Fed...for harassing Deb...for being a general fuckwad...and then another...

Rossi, Reid, and Alvez were the first ones to reach her; the Lieutenant went to her man that was down before joining the team. Paramedics soon followed, and finally JJ, the Captain, and the detective that the Lieutenant seemed to favor arrived.

"They went that way," Prentiss said, pointing in the direction that Quinn chased after the UNSUB. Joe...Sergeant Quinn went after him after he shot us. Might need back up.

"Emily, please," Reid insisted. "Don't try to talk. Just relax. The Medics are here to take care of you."

While the Medics did their thing, SSA David Rossi made the call; with their Unit Chief down, it fell on him as Senior Agent to do so.

"JJ, you and Spencer go with Emily." He decided; the three of them always seemed to have the tightest bond and it seemed wrong that they should be apart when one of them was hurt. "I'll stay here on the scene. Alvez, go own and back up that hothead Quinn."

As Alvez started to trot down the path, Captain Batista started after him, leaving Lewis and Shaw to secure this scene on behalf of Miami Metro. Initially it seemed unusual that the Captain would be the one heading into the lion's mouth, but then he recalled that Quinn was – or still is in a way – his partner. It could be an old loyalty thing kicking in. Rossi had to respect that. With JJ and Reid in the ambulance speeding away with Emily on a stretcher, David Rossi went about the business of profiling the scene; taking care not to tamper with anything as he did so.

"Sergeant Quinn, that's enough!" Captain Angel Batista heard SSA Luke Alvez shout a few paces ahead of him. When he caught up, he saw that Joey was pummeling the shit out of that scumbag Elway; he so desperately wanted to let him go a little bit longer. If anyone deserved a good fist fuck it was Jacob Elway. But no, he couldn't do it.

"Stand down, Sergeant! That's an order!" He barked; apparently his bark had more of a chop to it than Alvez expected; the Fed glanced over his shoulder admirably as Quinn abruptly ceased the beat-down he was administering. Then Quinn stood up, turned and faced them. It was clear from his bloody nose that it was busted. He backed away from their suspect, advising him that he was now facing the charge of resisting arrest in addition to his other charges.

Even though Quinn said he gave Elway his rights, Batista went through them again just be sure as they escorted him back to the scene where he would be taken first to medical, then to a holding cell. The Captain was also careful not to charge him with the Copycat Butcher crimes yet; they had plenty to charge him with without that.


	16. Chapter 16

_Miami, Florida_

When Dexter woke the next morning, it took a moment to realize just where he was. Part of the reason for his initial confusion was the fact he was woken by a loud knocking on the front door of an apartment he was quite certain he'd never been in before; and yet here he was, passed out on the sofa in the living room, sheets on the cushions and a blanket covering him. It reminded him briefly of the way Rita treated guests the odd time they had people sleeping over when she was alive.

Then he remembered. He was in Miami, at Astor's apartment. She took him home from the Police station after Dr. Reid tried to interview him. Whether the FBI boy genius believed him or not was almost irrelevant; there was absolutely no proof that Dexter had done any wrong in this or any case- barring the impersonation of a police officer. Once Astor had gotten him home, she let him take a shower and set out some fresh clothes that she said were Cody's. It was strange to Dexter that these clothes were actually a little too big for him; he couldn't help but remember Cody being tiny.

 _Then again, Astor did say he was working out a lot, and their biological father Paul Bennett was a rather large guy, so it makes sense Cody would have grown..._

The knocking persisted. Whoever it was at the door was not going to give up and go away, it seemed. Finally Dexter groaned and pulled himself off the sofa. He stood, and stretched a kink out of his back and neck.

The knocking became a pounding.

"Okay! I'm coming!" Dexter shouted at the door. Gradually he made his way to the door to see a note taped to it in Astor's handwriting:  
"I had to go into the office. Uncle Joey caught Elway. Elway shot and killed Scott, injured one of the Feds really bad, and broke Uncle Joey's nose, but he caught him. Joey beat the shit out of him and now he's in the hospital – emergency ward, I think. Remember what I said last night. Love, Astor."

Dexter tore the note off the door and opened it. There he saw a man in a brown and yellow uniform standing in front of him. In one hand, he was holding a small package with and an envelope taped to it. He had a clipboard in the other hand. On the patio floor at his feet was a vase with a single flower in it; the flower was Monkshood – also known as Wolfsbane, also known as Aconite.

The Dark Passenger stirred ever so slightly; though Dexter wasn't sure why.

"I got a package for John Dough here?" The man said in that ever so annoying way that sounded more like a question than a statement. Dexter let it go this time; presuming the man was asking if he was John Dough.

"That's me." Dexter replied.

The man handed him the package, stooped down and picked up the vase to hand it to him as well. Dexter took both items, and when the man handed him the clipboard he examined it briefly before signing it; apparently the sender was a woman named Daphne Chaplin. Again the Dark Passenger stirred; this time Dexter thought he understood why. He didn't know anyone by that name. This could be some kind of set up. Maybe Dr. Spencer Reid orchestrated something that was supposed to set Dexter up in order to implicate him in something. For a second, Dexter considered rejecting the package, but then thought better of it; it was best to act normal and sign for it as if nothing was wrong. He signed the document and took his copy and sent the man away, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He set the vase onto the coffee table in front of the sofa with the package, and tore the envelope off to open it. Inside was a colorful card that announced "WE MISS YOU". He opened the card and a photograph fell out. Examining the photo, Dexter recognized the pair on it immediately; a deeply tanned woman with red hair (dyed), and a boy, they were sitting near a swimming pool with an open-air cafe that had a thatch roof in the background. Besides being tanned from getting a lot of sunlight and looking a little older (the boy in particular had grown immensely), the pair were unmistakable. It was Hannah and Harrison.

Deep in the darkest parts of his mind – a place that Dexter had nearly forgotten was even there- the Dark Passenger came to full wakefulness. The image on the photograph was no trick; it was real. That meant only one thing; that Hannah and Harrison were alive and safe, and that Hannah, at least was aware of the situation and trying to communicate that to him. Almost frantic with anticipation, he flipped open the card. It was blank except for a hand written message from Hannah:

"Dexter:  
I'm not sure where to begin. First, I guess I should let you know that I've known you're alive for awhile now; Astor found me in Argentina and informed me. Please forgive her. She thought I should know, and she did her best to explain why you did things the way you did. I still think you handled it all wrong, but you did you did what you thought you had to do to protect us. Harrison and I are in Acapulco now; I've been home schooling him. He doesn't know you're alive, but he's never really believed you were dead.  
Anyway, once it was confirmed that you were back in Florida, Astor contacted me again. I've been following the Copycat killings in the news; it's obviously not you. You've never been that careless. My guess is that you'll be staying with Astor for now, so I sent this along with a small package. I don't know who's doing this to you, but whoever it is it should be you who resolves the matter. Astor is right about that. She's also right that whether it's on your table or in the electric chair, dead is dead. The item in the package should help you do what you have to do to make things right.  
When you're done, get Astor to help you come and see us. I'll make sure Harrison understands everything. All my love, Hannah."

The Dark Passenger grumbled its wordless approval of the message. It was definitely Hannah's writing. This was a legitimate message. As for Dexter, he couldn't remember feeling so... alive. He took the wrapping off the package and opened the small box. Inside he found what he sort of expected; knowing Hannah and her methods as he did. It was a syringe, the tip with the protector still on it. How she managed to get it across the border was a mystery, but he wasn't about to question it. He had an idea of what was in the syringe, too; the monkshood in the vase was a clue.

The Dark Passenger laughed inside him. This wasn't exactly his favorite means, but it would certainly be sufficient. In a sense of the word, it was actually very fitting; this way, he and Hannah would be putting an end to the threat Jacob Elway together. He would do it personally, and because of the Aconite she provided, Hannah would be making it possible.

"I love you, too, Hannah." Dexter said aloud. Then, as he started to prepare himself a good breakfast, he began to work out a plan to get to Jacob Elway in the hospital.

No sooner than she had calmed Garcia down and sent Rossi, JJ, and Alvez out to get set to head home, Joey came striding casually into her room; his nose all busted up and sporting the telltale twin shiners of such an injury. With the grin on his face, he had a certain devil-may-care look that SSA Emily Prentiss found rather appealing. She didn't even bother trying to tell herself it was the pain medication telling her that. As her team was leaving, Reid asked for a couple of days to stay in Miami. JJ playfully punched his arm and joked that he was hoping to make time with that cute intern at the Station. Alvez added to the joke that she was obviously interested. Prentiss allowed him a couple of days. She was going to be stuck here, anyway, so they could head back together once the doctors deemed her fit for travel.

"How're you holding up?" Joey asked her.

"I've lived through worse," Prentiss replied. "What happened to you?"

Joey laughed lightly. "You should see the loser." He shot back. "Really, you should. He's one floor down from here."

"I'll take your word for it." Emily said. "So Alvez said you were the one who collared the UNSUB. Good work."

"Thanks for your help." Quinn replied. "So I guess you'll be hanging out here for a few days."

"Looks that way" she confirmed.

"Yeah," Joey nodded. "So how about this: Once the docs say you can get out of this dump we try again for that dinner at Papa's on the beach? It really is the best place in town."

Emily grinned. She had to appreciate his persistence. "You're on." She said.

At the Miami Metro Station, Captain Angelo Juan-Marco Batista and Lieutenant Angela Lewis were in the office of Deputy Chief Matthews, going over the last of the reports on the evidence found at the cabin Jacob Elway was using as headquarters for his Copycat killings. Most of the team of Feds were for all intents and purposes heading back to Quantico, but their Unit Chief was laid up in the hospital, and it looked like the skinny doctor – Reid, his name was – was sticking around until she was fit to travel. As a result, Reid was in the room, too. Angel made a point to remember that; the doc was sniffing awful close around things that concerned Dexter. Matthews was already in on what he and Joey were doing, and he was sharp enough to guard his words careful about that, and Lewis had no idea. The only question Angel had was what was Reid looking for, anyway? Unfortunately, there was no real way to ask that without revealing that he knew Dex was alive all along.

"You're sure that the DNA evidence found on the hammer and the machete will match up to our victims?" Matthews asked. "I want to there to be no mistakes if we charge Elway with the Copycat Butcher killings."

"Vince has already confirmed the tool marks from both matches perfectly with the wounds on the victims." Angel replied. "Also, he got careless with his last victim, Arlene Shram aka Heidi Marsh. Fingerprint analysis confirms he was the one using the weapons. The trace DNA found on them will just be icing on the cake. We got him, boss."

Matthews nodded, apparently satisfied. "At any rate, we have that son of a bitch for killing an officer, assaulting an officer, and the attempted murder of a Federal Agent." He said. "He'll definitely go down for that, and when the Copycat killings stop after that, we can close this case once and for all." He closed the file and set it down on his desk. Standing up, he shook all of their hands in turn. "Good work, all of you." He said. "I suggest we wait until all our ducks are in a row before we go to press conference; we don't want another embarrassment related to the Bay Harbor Butcher." He looked at Reid. "I want to thank you and your team personally," he said. "I hope your chief has a speedy recovery."

"Thank you and you're welcome." Reid replied, reluctantly taking Matthew's hand to shake it. Remarkably, Angel noted, Matthews didn't seem at all offended by the Fed's reluctance. It was pretty clear that it wasn't personal; Reid had been avoiding physical contact with anyone the whole time he was there. With that, Dr. Reid left the room.

"What I don't get is why did he copy Doakes?" Lewis inquired. "There have been a number of high profile serial cases here, many of them more recent. He could have used any one of them, some of which would have more sense if he was trying to lure McKay out of hiding."

"Probably because the Butcher was the most controversial" Angel replied simply. "Even in the media, there are still a few speculations that we got the wrong guy, and the real Butcher is out there somewhere; that he just got smarter."

"Yeah," Lewis concurred, "that's probably it." She left the room, leaving Matthews and Angel alone.

Angel closed the door to the office behind her and turned to Matthews, who had returned to his seat. "So that leaves Dexter." He said. "Now that he's broken his own cover, what do we do with him?"

Matthews waved it off. "I know the Morgan's well." He said. "After all we've done to help him; he won't throw any of us under the bus. As for any charges that may come his way for impersonating an officer or whatever, I have plenty of stroke with the courthouse. I can get any court date for him delayed indefinitely. Eventually his case will be all but forgotten; especially since so far it is entirely internal."

"So Dexter can pretty much disappear again, and it'll be like he was never even here." Angel nodded. Satisfied that all was well on that front, the Captain left the Deputy Chief.

Jacob Elway drifted back and forth into and out consciousness; he was able to discern he was in the Emergency Ward, but couldn't quite recall what happened to him. The last thing he clearly remembered was making a break for it back at the cabin. Obviously, he didn't make it. He tried to open his eyes; one was swollen shut, and the meds they had him on were strong enough to sap his strength to the point where it took too much energy to open the other.

"So what's this guy's story, anyway?" He heard what he guessed was a male nurse asking.

"He shot a cop and a Fed." A female voice answered. "Then he tried to brawl another cop in order to escape. I guess that cop took exception to that."

"It certainly seems that way." The male voice agreed. There was something about his voice that made Elway sure he'd heard it before; he couldn't focus enough to place it, though.

"I also heard the cops think he might be the Copycat Butcher." The Female voice whispered.

"You don't say."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Some of the other nurses speculate this might be the real deal and that the guy they said did the originals was a patsy. I think that's BS. I think the real Butcher is still out there and the cops are protecting him; using him as a kind of boogeyman."

"Well, that's an interesting theory." Elway heard the male voice say before drifting back out.

He came back to the waking world in immense pain; he had no idea how long he had been out, but apparently long enough for his meds to wear off. He managed to open his one good eye and turn his head to one side. The first thing he saw was a photograph of a pretty, well tanned red head and a blond haired boy in front of a thatch roofed restaurant. Through the fog of his pain, he eventually recognized the woman in the picture; it was Hannah McKay. The boy had to be Harrison Morgan. Panic set in and he tried to reach for the call button, but discovered his hands were cuffed to the sides of the bed.

"Oh, good," the male voice said. "You're awake."

Now Jacob was able to place that voice. Slowly he turned his head to face forward and saw a man in nurse scrubs and a surgical mask standing over him. The man covered his mouth with one hand and pulled down the mask with other. Elway was right. The voice belonged to Dexter Morgan.

"They say that imitation is the finest form of flattery." Dexter said. "The problem is that I never thought of flattery as particularly complimentary. It's dishonest, you see." He carefully turned Elway's head to look at the picture again. "I didn't have time to collect decent pictures of your victims, not that they matter much anyway. Most of them were far from innocent. But I want you to see the lives you've been trying to ruin." He leaned in close to Elway's ear and hissed "that's my son you're fucking with."

He carefully removed the IV from its port in Elway's right arm and produced the syringe that Hannah had sent him from the table he placed in on while setting up the room. Deep in his mind, he could feel the Dark Passenger dancing with glee. While this wasn't his preferred means to an end, it was certainly enough to satisfy a need that had been denied for far too long. Dexter imagined it was like when an alcoholic goes for years without a drink and then gets a sip of really cheap wine; it's not what he really wanted, but the effect is immeasurably satisfying anyway.

Keeping one hand on Elway's mouth, he removed the stopper from the syringe with his teeth. As part of his preparation, he rigged the monitors to read as normal while he performed his make do ritual.

"I'm sure you realize that this isn't my typical style," he explained, waving the syringe in the air, "but you are a special case. This is as much for Hannah and my son as it is for me." He then stuck the syringe loaded with Aconite into the port, trusting that Hannah would have dosed it so that he would have time to be long gone by the time it took its effect of causing a cardiac arrest. Ideally, the heart attack would be written off as result of strain from his current injuries, and since he had just killed to officers of the law no further investigation would take place. Dexter had examined the injury report before beginning, and noted that Quinn had damaged Elway's larynx in his beat down. He probably couldn't shout anyway, so he slowly removed his hand from Elway's mouth. No sooner than his hand was clear, Elway made an attempt to shout for help, but only a hoarse whisper came out of his mouth. Dexter then replaced the IV, turned and left.

It was almost perfect. He would have rather stayed to watch the Aconite take effect, but there wasn't time. He put the surgical mask back on and made his way for the nearest exit. He would just have to wait and see in order to confirm that Jacob Elway had died as a result of his injuries. He didn't need to worry about Quinn; all inquiries would end with him in the clear. Elway was resisting arrest, and all Quinn would have to say is that he was absolutely certain that his own personal life was in danger. Once he sure his work with Elway was done, he would get Astor to establish contact with Hannah and Harrison in Mexico. Maybe then he could put the Dark Passenger to rest permanently; if that was what he really wanted...

Deep inside, he could feel the Dark Passenger grinning. Wordlessly, it thanked him for letting it come out play.

 _You can't change what you are, son._ Harry told him. _Just stick to the Code and you'll be fine._

 _I get it now, bro,_ Deb chimed in. _Some of these fuckers are just getting what they deserve. So I say fuck yeah; do what you've gotta do._


End file.
